


Teeth

by SushiOwl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Choking, Collars, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Deepthroating, Dom Peter, Dom/sub, Dominance, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Exhibitionism, F/M, Face-Fucking, Fingerfucking, Fisting, Flogging, Food, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hickies, Holidays, Kink Negotiation, Lots of Food, Lube, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Order Giving, Paddling, Peter is a whip master, Phone Sex, Restraints, Riding Crops, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Safewords, Sex Swing, Spanking, Sub Stiles, Subdrop, Submission, Subspace, Undressing, Vibrating Anal Plug, Whips, bullwhips, but not really, but that's all they get, short scene with the Hales, shower masturbation, so they don't get to be tagged individually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-09 13:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 82,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1984521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is new to the BDSM scene and is a little lost, but thankfully he finds a dom to show him the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> So! I've dabbled a little in D/s in other stories, and I like it so much that I'm going to devote a whole plot to it. Yay!
> 
> I'm not sure how many chapters there will be. Probably at least five. Expect a lot of sex.
> 
> Edit: Somehow, five turned into fourteen. So much sex.
> 
> I **do not** give my consent to have my works listed on goodreads.
> 
> Translated to Hungarian [here.](http://fanfic.hu/merengo/viewstory.php?sid=122266)

"I'm not going with you," Scott said, hunched over his desk and chewing on the cap of his pen as he went over the European History notes Stiles loaned him.

Stiles very petulantly wanted to take them back. He had only let him borrow them because Scott had been too freaking hungover for braining during the actual class. It had been the day after Stiles's 21st birthday, and everyone had gotten shitfaced. Scott had gone face first into his pillow the moment they got back to the dorm. Stiles had stayed up and very badly played Robot Unicorn Attack while chugging two bottles of water. His head had hurt in the morning, but he wasn't a whining zombie like Scott.

"Aw, c'mon man. We ride together; we die together. Don't you remember the terms of our broship?" That made Isaac snort from where he was reading on Scott's bed. Stiles sent him a half hearted glare.

"I'd rather not die in an S&M club, man," Scott replied, rolling his eyes up.

"For the last time, it's BDSM. I'm only interested in the dominance and submission part. I'm not a masochist." He pressed his lips together thinking. "Though the bondage part doesn't sound too bad either."

"Sounds pretty masochistic to me," Isaac said, smiling when Stiles for-real glared this time.

"Hush you," Stiles said in what he hoped was a warning and not a whine. He turned back to Scott. "C'mon, please! Don't make me go alone."

"I'm not making you do anything," Scott said, tapping his pen against his cheek. "Besides, Isaac and I have a date."

"Eating leftover pizza and quizzing each other off flashcards is not a date," Stiles complained, though he kind of wished he had that himself.

"Says you," Isaac said easily, turning the page of his math book.

"We do stuff after we're done with the flashcards," Scott said, the roll of his eyes almost audible.

"That I really don't want to know about," Stiles grumbled with a gag, and Isaac gave him a look like they would do said gross stuff on _his_ bed if he didn't shut up.

That almost made Stiles want to stay at the dorm so he could watch them like an angry hawk. Almost.

Teeth was the closest BDSM club to Stanford. There was one other that he'd read about called Claws, owned by the same people, but it was a longer train ride. 

When he arrived at Teeth, the doorman, a tall muscular dude with a buzz cut dyed in checkers, stared at his ID for a long time, even going as far as scanning it with a little blacklight. Stiles just stood there with his eyebrows raised, watching him. “Do you need my birth certificate too? Maybe my social security number and a blood sample?” The guy just handed his ID back and opened the door for him.

The inside wasn't as he expected it to be. He had thought it would be like all the clubs in True Blood, all blacks and reds with draping fabrics and flicking torch lights. The place was called Teeth, after all. But in actuality, it was all dark blues and grays with soft looking white furniture. The bartender didn't look like she was serving blood, and the coat checker smiled at him warmly.

He had also expected there to be heavy metal music playing, but there was only soft jazz, a soothing tune.

He would have stopped at the bar for a drink, but the $30 door fee had tapped him out. So he wandered around a bit. The club wasn't too busy, but then it was only nine at night, and Stiles had no idea how crowded it ever got. There were various rooms with grey curtains either opened or not. He didn't peek in the closed ones.

In one of the rooms, there was a woman with a silver case of collars, explaining in a low voice why the brand she was selling was the best. "The leather is soft and pliant while strong." She lifted a black collar up and wrapped it around a silent young man's neck as he sat beside her, tilting his head to the side. "It's excellent for extended wear, and it looks beautiful." She dragged her fingers down the long line of her sub's neck, before she traced the edge of the collar.

Stiles must have made a noise, because suddenly everyone was looking at him. He started, backing away. "Uh," he tried.

"Would you like to try one on?" the collar seller asked him, her lips twitching into a smile. "Maybe your dom would buy it for you when they see it around your pretty neck."

"Nothanksbye," Stiles blurted out, turning tail and scurrying away. He didn't want to think about how interested he was in someone leading him around by a leash and holding onto the collar as he was fucked. His face burned.

What he saw in another room didn't help his embarrassment. There was a blonde woman in a pair of lacy black panties, getting intricate knots tied around her arms by a large black man. Stiles watched as he leaned in to murmur something in her ear, causing her to giggle softly. Then, Stiles felt like such a peeping Tom and retreated.

One thing that caught his attention was that every room had a row of water bottles on a low table, at least five to a room. Were they complementary? Or did someone come out of nowhere demanding like seven dollars when you drank out of one? Was there maniacal laughter? 'Haha, got you!'

He saw a few other displays, like the caning in one room and the tickling of a bound sub in another, before he reached the back of the club. There was a hallway being guarded by a bored looking woman with a magazine. She had about twenty piercings visible and a corset that gave her cleavage for days. She must have sensed Stiles staring, because she looked up and blinked at him.

She straightened a bit. "This way to private rooms," she said, indicating behind her because she could probably smell the noob on him. "$20 an hour, five person maximum."

"Oh," Stiles said very brightly, shuffling to the side to escape her critical eyes. "Thanks." He shimmied his way into a public room as she just looked back at her magazine.

In this room, there was a small stage with a Saint Andrew's cross, bound to which was a woman with long black hair and nothing but a tight, tiny black bodice and short shorts on. Her head was bowed in the top V of the cross, letting out little kitten noises as a flogger struck her back.

Doing said flogging was an almost stunningly gorgeous redhead, wearing a longsleeved black top, a tight skirt and heels that put her nearly en pointe. Her hair was drawn up in a braid around her head, only wisps of hair hanging down. She wielded the flogger with a purpose, determination bright in her eyes.

Stiles forced himself to move further into the room, taking a seat on one of the two couches. It was then he noticed someone else there: a man sitting in one of the armchairs with his legs crossed and his fingers laced over his stomach. He was handsome with slicked back black hair and a neat goatee. He was maybe forty at the absolute out and very handsome. He glanced at Stiles for just a moment before turning blue eyes back to the scene.

Sinking back into the couch, Stiles let himself be taken on a journey by what he saw before him. There was such an obvious trust between the women on the stage, an easy give and take that made the show of power and pain like the beat of a drum. Draw back, hit, moan, etc. It was as intimate as it could be.

He wanted that. He wanted that trust and that passion. He wanted to enter a whole new world with someone.

"How old are you?"

Stiles was pulled out of his thoughts so suddenly that his head could have spun. He glanced over at the other man, finding him watching him with a critical expression.

"What?" Stiles asked, in a near 'who are you, the fun police?' way.

"I asked your age." 

Stiles couldn't help his frown. "I'm 21."

"May I see your ID?" the man asked, holding out his hand expectantly. He had a nice manicure.

"Uh, okay," Stiles said, sounding about as incredulous as he felt. He pulled out his wallet, a tattered thing with duct tape holding it together. Thankfully the other man didn't comment. "You have to be 21 to get in," he went on, a bit defensively.

"I am aware," the man said, eyeing the ID. "But Benji has been known to let minors in just because they're attractive."

Stiles swallowed. "You come here often enough to know the doorman's name?" He decided, because he wasn't going to blurt out 'you think I'm attractive?'

"Oh, yes," the man replied, handing the wallet back, apparently satisfied that Stiles wasn't twelve. "How do you pronounce your first name?"

"You don't," Stiles said with a snort, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. "Everyone calls me 'Stiles'."

"Stiles Stilinski?" the man practically purred, tilting his head a little.

Stiles didn't shiver. He didn't.

"Just rolls off your tongue, doesn't it?"

That made the man smile, and he offered his hand. "Peter Hale." 

Stiles took his hand, shaking it and not missing the way Peter's grip lingered. "Nice to meet you."

Peter settled back, looking comfortable and at ease as if he was a professional lounger. Stiles probably looked like a fidgety abstract art installation made of knees compared to him. He should have taken more Adderall.

"So what are you looking for tonight?" Peter asked.

"How do you mean?"

"Do you just want to watch?" Peter indicated to the stage with a smooth sweep of his hand, and the woman with the black hair moaned out something unintelligible as if on cue. "Or are you looking to make a connection? I assume you're here alone?"

Not for lacking of trying, though he had a feeling Scott would have run for the door at the sight of those collars. Stiles squirmed. "I'm alone, and I'm not... not sure."

"Dom or sub?"

"Me?" Stiles asked so very insightfully, pointing to himself. Peter nodded, his face blank but open. "Oh, shit, I—sub, I think?"

"You think?"

"I've never done this before," Stiles practically mumbled, feeling awkward as this man studied him. From what he read, he was pretty sure he was a sub, but he wouldn't really know unless he was under someone else's control, right? What if he had a panic attack or started ugly crying and screaming his safe word?

Shit, he needed a safe word.

Peter got up after a long moment of watching Stiles's inner turmoil, moving around the low coffee table and sitting next to Stiles, his arm thrown across the back of the couch behind Stiles's shoulders. Stiles wasn't sure rather to lean away or press against Peter's front and beg to be swept away into the sunset.

"Any of it?" Peter asked, his voice softer now, almost gentle.

Stiles definitely wanted to flop over his lap, but he kept that to himself. "Well, I've had sex, just not—" He flapped a hand ridiculously. "—interesting sex."

Amusement drew the corner of Peter's lips up. "Interesting, hm? Your life is severely lacking." He somehow made that sound more like an invitation than an insult. "Have you done any research?"

"Yes, lots," Stiles replied, shifting so he could turn more toward Peter, eager now. "That's kind of my thing—research. If I get a notion in my head, I just have to find out everything I can about it. Like—like that." He nodded toward the stage, and Peter flicked his eyes over then back again, lifting a brow. "I can tell she's using a backhand stroke instead of an overhand. I can tell by the sound of the thud that the flogger's made of cow or elk leather or maybe suede, probably half inch in width."

There was a true smile spreading across Peter's face, eyes glinting with attractive danger. "Discerning. That is half inch elk." Stiles was delighted to be right, and he tried not to show it too much. "Sometimes they work up to buffalo. Is flogging something you'd be interested in?"

Stiles licked his lips. "I think maybe someday. I don't—I'm know for jumping headlong into things, but with this... baby steps?" 

"Understandable," Peter said, lifting his hand off his lap and trailing the backs of his nails down the column of Stiles's neck, which made him shiver violently. "Why don't you tell me what most piqued your interest in your reading." He left his hand on Stiles's shoulder, a warm grounding weight.

Dragging his bottom lips through his teeth, Stiles let out a shaky breath. "I want to be blindfolded, to only know where someone is by their hands and their voice, to be... completely open." He took a deep breath, remembering the depth of his reading. "That's the only kind of sensory deprivation I'd be interested in. I don't want to be mummified, and isolation tanks terrify me.

"They're certainly not for everyone," Peter said mildly, and Stiles was left wondering if he had experience with them. Was there one in one of those private rooms? "What else?" Peter urged gently.

"I think I wouldn't mind being tied up," Stiles said, before he squeezed his eyes shut. "Shit, this all sounds so—so basic."

Peter's thumb trailed over his collarbone. "There is nothing basic about wanting to surrender to someone else."

Stiles dragged in a sharp gasp like he had been holding his breath, and his words came out hurried and breathy. "That's what I want, to have someone else be in charge and to give over the reins. I want them to control everything, like what I feel and what I don't, how I move, and when I come or if I come at all. Not because I'm lazy and don't want to participate, but because I want to please, to be desired and sexy." God, his face was _burning_. But he didn't feel embarrassed, not given the way Peter was looking at him.

Peter cupped Stiles's jaw, his thumb trailing over his bottom lip. "You don't need any help being sexy," he said, his voice dropped a few octaves, and the fire in Stiles's face took over his body. "I think—" 

He didn't get to finish because a man came into the room, moving over to lean in and whisper something in Peter's ear. His face went hard with irritation as he nodded, and the other man left as quickly as he came. 

Peter smoothed his face out and gave Stiles's lips one more pass with his thumb. "Don't go anywhere, beautiful." Then he left, pulling the gray curtain closed on his way out.

'Beautiful?' Stiles mouth to himself, grinning as he did so. He'd heard handsome and cute, but never beautiful. He gnawed away at his bottom lip, sinking back into the couch and letting out a weird snorting giggle. It was not an attractive sound.

He turned his attention back to the stage, where the redhead was flogging the other woman in long, even strokes right down her back with a wide rotation. As he watched, he became mesmerized again. The woman with black hair wasn’t even holding herself up anymore, just leaning into the cross and letting out moans, untimed and delirious. The redhead was breathing hard too, and soon she stopped, standing up straight and wiping at her forehead with the back of her hand.

Stiles watched, feeling like he was intruding but unable to look away, as the redheaded woman dropped her flogger and went to unbind the other woman. She rubbed down her arms first, before unlocking one leather cuff and then the other.

"You did so well," the redhead said, running her hands up and down the other woman's arms. "You were perfect for me." She pushed back the dampened black hair from her sub's face, and Stiles could see that she was trembling, but she was smiling so big.

The redhead led the brunette down off the stage and to the couch opposite of Stiles, grabbing one of the bottles of water. She twisted off the top and put the nozzle to her sub's lips. "Slow, slow," she said as her sub took little sips before bringing her hand up to hold the bottle herself. "I've got you." The redheaded dom ran her hand a circle on her sub's back for a while before she looked pointedly at Stiles.

"Oh!" Stiles said, slapping his hands over his eyes when he realized he was staring like a moron. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to gawk at you like that. You two are just so amazing."

"Thank you," the dom said, and Stiles peeked through his fingers at her. "You're sweet." She was smiling softly, so that was good, right? "And new, aren't you?"

Stiles dropped his hands to his lap, letting out a sigh. "Yeah. It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Not really," the redhead responded with a shake of her head. "I just know the look. We were like you not too long ago. I'm Lydia, and this is Allison."

Allison waggled her fingers around the plastic bottle of water, which was nearly empty now. "Hi."

"Hey, I'm Stiles."

"Nice to meet you," Lydia said with a smile. "How old are you, by the way? You have a baby face." She drew a circle around her own face with a finger in the air.

Stiles groaned and dropped his head back, before he straightened as a woman with a bar tray came over and offered him a frozen pink drink in a tall, thin glass. "Um?" was all he could manage to say as he took it.

"Compliments of Mr Hale," she said with a smile before she walked off.

Stiles stared at it a moment. "Mr Hale," he mimicked in a hoity toity voice.

"Peter must like you," Lydia remarked, drawing her fingers through Allison's hair.

"Is he a VIP or something? He acts like he owns the place." He took a sip of the drink and was delighted. "Mm, strawberry."

"He does own the place," Lydia said with a snort.

Stiles nearly got strawberry bellini in his nose. He coughed, rubbing his face. "What, you serious?" At Lydia's amused nod, Stiles slumped. "Oooh, shit. That makes him like Super BDSM Man, doesn't it?"

Allison giggled at that, and it was a cute sound.

Lydia looked near to laughing too. "What?" She pressed her lips together.

"I'm looking for someone to introduce me to, like, beginner's level stuff, but he's the Master of Masters or something." Stiles started to drink so fast he got a brain freeze.

Lydia was actually laughing now. "Peter is a good dom." She shook her head fondly as Stiles rubbed at his temples. "He's patient and attentive, and he only does what his sub wants. His knowledge and experience is invaluable. I go him for advice often."

"Me too," Allison agreed with a nod.

"When I first decided to seriously get into this lifestyle, it was Peter that set me in the right direction." Lydia leaned in and kissed Allison's brow, earning a grin. "You'll just have to talk to Peter and see if he's the dom you want."

Stiles nodded, swallowing hard. "Okay."

If Peter was what they said he was, then he was perfect. But Stiles still felt weirdly inadequate suddenly. What if he turned out to be too vanilla for what Peter liked? That would be just awkward for the both of them.

"Back to my question," Lydia said, pulling him out of his thoughts. "How old are you?"

"21," Stiles replied as he took a big swig of his drink.

"Oh, okay, you're our age," Lydia said. "Well, Allison's 22. Anyway, I thought you were like 18 and Benji let you in because he thought you were cute."

"The more I hear about this Benji," Stiles said with a sigh. "The more I wonder why he still has a job."

They talked about mostly benign things after that. Stiles learned that they both went to Stanford too. While Stiles was majoring in education, Lydia was in mathematics and Allison in gymnastics. Lydia was determined to solve a Millennium Prize problem—which he was unfamiliar with until she explained—before graduation, and Allison was on a waiting list for the Olympics for floor routines.

Eventually the ladies bid him goodnight and headed out. Stiles was feeling nice and tipsy at this point, having had three nummy frozen drinks since Peter left to deal with whatever had called him away. After another drink, Stiles flopped sideways onto the couch and yawn, deciding to just close his eyes for a minute. Peter would be back soon, so just a little bit.

When he woke up, he had no idea where he was, but he felt warm, and there was someone stroking his cheek and saying his name. He slid his eyes up and blinked at Peter’s softly smiling face.

“Hello there, sleepyhead,” Peter said to him, smiling a wider and straightening up.

Stiles twisted and stretched with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Wah time izzit?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eye and pulling himself into a sitting position.

“Almost two.” Peter sat down next to him. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”

“Oh God,” Stiles whined a little. No wonder he was so exhausted. “I should get back to the dorm.”

“How about you come home with me instead?” Peter reached out and touched Stiles’s cheek, and it felt so natural to just lean into it. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, so you don’t have class, right?”

Stiles smiled a bit goofy. “Yeah, that sounds—wait, shit!” He jerked up. “I can’t. I have a study group in like six hours.”

“I see,” Peter replied, and there was disappointment there, but it was gone almost immediately as it came. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your studies. Did you drive here?”

Stiles shook his head. “I took the train and walked the rest of the way.”

“Well, I can’t in good conscious let you walk to the station at this time of night. Let me give you are ride to your university, at least. Stanford, yes?” He was smiling again, and Stiles was wondering if he could get away with kissing those soft-looking lips.

“Yeah, and that would be great.” Those weren’t stars in his eyes. It was a trick of the light.

“Good.” Peter stood up. “I hope you don’t mind motorcycles.”

“Uh,” Stiles said as he followed him out of the room.

“Don’t worry. I have an extra helmet.” 

The bartender waved at them as they went past, calling out a cheerful, “Night, boss!”

Stiles had never ridden a motorcycle before, even though Scott had one. He put Isaac on the back of it all the time, but even after Roscoe died a sad, tragic death, Stiles had never wanted to be on the back of one. But the moment Stiles was perched on the back of Peter’s motorcycle with his arms around his waist and that engine roared to life, Stiles wanted to squeal. 

This was awesome.

The ride was about twenty minutes long, give or take, and it was easy for Peter to maneuver through traffic, the subtle changes in his leaning making them go to and fro. He let out a happy shout when Peter revved the engine and took a tight turn. Stiles never wanted to get off. 

When he did, his legs were a bit like jelly, and Peter reached out to steady him as he wobbled. “That was awesome!” he said, taking off the helmet and handing it over. 

Peter took it and secured it to the back of his bike. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I guess this is where we say goodnight.”

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed out, charmed unceasingly. “Goodnight, Peter.”

“Goodnight, Stiles. Sleep well.” Peter put his own helmet back on and rode off.

Stiles let out a dreamy sigh, before he paused. “Wait.” He groaned. “I didn’t even get his number!” He smacked a hand over his face. “Stupid, stupid Stiles. Way to go.” 

He turned toward his dorm, swiping the card that unlocked the front door before heading in. He took the stairs up to his level two at a time and hummed his way down the hallway, still elated if feeling ridiculous. It was an interesting mix of sensations. Before he even could open the door to his room, it was being ripped open, and there was a frazzled looking Scott, panting and wide-eyed.

“You!” Scott all but shouted, reaching out and grabbing Stiles by front of his shirt and yanking him in. “I thought you were dead!” He shut the door as Stiles stumbled into the room. “I texted you twenty times and left you five voice messages!”

Stiles smoothed down his clothes, pulling his phone out of his pocket and staring at the black face. “Oh, I turned it off and left it at the coat check. They’re not allowed in the club.” Scott gave him a weird look. “Would you want some random person taking a picture of you while getting spanked?”

Scott’s eyes went wide and then very narrow. “Did you get spanked tonight?”

“No!” Stiles blurted out, face going hot because he was now wondering how broad Peter’s hands were. “I didn’t do anything. I just chilled out, drank some bellinis and talked to some nice people.” 

“Oh,” Scott said. “That doesn’t sound too exciting.”

Stiles shrugged and told him all about Lydia and Allison, grinning at Scott’s wide-eyed fascination with the very concept of flogging. He also told him about Peter, his maybe-to-be-if-he-was-lucky dom. He really didn’t know where he stood with Peter, but he had a feeling he’d work up to finding out.

“So you’re good then?” Scott asked, half way asleep on his twin bed.

Stiles was on the other twin bed, nodding and pulling his covers up to his ears. “I’m great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale) for the read.
> 
> I'm giving myself a deadline for each chapter. A new one will be posted every Sunday, or earlier if I finish them beforehand. Let's see how well I do. xD
> 
> Next chapter: **7/26/14**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Peter talk... privately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update is early! Hopefully this will become a thing with me.

On Monday, Stiles found it hard to concentrate on his courses. Throughout his earliest class, he didn't think he heard the instructor at all, because he was busy staring off into the distance while thinking about Peter's smile. His second class, History of Music, brought on so many fantasies about the soothing sound of Peter's voice. And as he caught through the math and sciences building, he was thinking about the warmth of Peter's hand and how nice it would have on his body. That's why when he ran in someone, he literally _ran_ into them.

There was a feminine 'oof,' and books fell between them. Stiles immediately dropped down to start picking them up. "Shit, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going," he said in a rush.

"Yeah, you look like you had your head in the clouds," the other person said, sounding amused, and Stiles looked up to find a familiar smiling face.

"Lydia," he said, lips quirking up.

"Hi Stiles. Thanks for adding collision to my day." She grabbed the last book and stood up.

Stiles hopped up and handed over the others. "I should have expected to see you in this building. You're probably queen here."

"Probably," Lydia agreed with a smile. "I'm actually glad to see you. Did you talk to Peter? How did it go?"

Stiles rubbed the back of his head. "I didn't really get a chance. He was gone for a long time and I passed out on that couch like a dork. All he did after that was give me a ride home." He dropped his hand and shrugged as she snorted at him. "I was going to go back to the club probably this weekend and see if I could get his attention."

"You're going to wait that long?" Lydia asked, her eyebrows going up.

"Yeah, I mean—well, it's not like I have a whole lot of studying to do, but I don't want to seem too desperate." Even if he kind of was. 

Lydia rolled her eyes up. "I wouldn't wait. For one thing, Peter is not a mind reader and may think you don't want him if you take forever. He may move on to someone else." She smiled at Stiles's look of horror. "And you wouldn't want that, now would you?"

Stiles shook his head so emphatically that he got dizzy.

Laughing like it was cute, Lydia patted his arm. "Allison and I are going to Teeth tonight. You should join us."

"Oh," Stiles started, blinking. "Yeah, okay. Tonight." If his idealizations were anything to go by, he'd be happy to see Peter. Hopefully it would be mutual. 

Lydia asked what dorm he lived in so she could pick him up, and he told her. The rest of the day, he was grinning like a fool. Even Scott asked if he'd experienced some recent head trauma.

* * *

"What the hell are you wearing?" Lydia asked, standing at the front door of the door in a leather bodice, black pants and silver boots.

Stiles looked down at himself. He had a Hulk tee on with a plaid overshirt and an unzipped red hoodie. His pale blue jeans were loose and comfortable if a bit tattered on the hems from walking on them for a couple years. "Uh?" he tried, running a hand through his wild hair. "No good?"

"So very not good," Lydia said, grabbing his hand and dragging him inside. "Which room are you?"

When he told her, she stomped up the stairs with him hobbling behind her. She threw open the room door, starting Scott and Isaac, who had been making out or wresting over the TV remote, one of the two. She went to dresser that was obviously his because it was covered in Justice League figures as they sat up and stared at her.

"Uh?" Scott asked with a quizzical puppy head tilt.

"This is Lydia," Stiles explained as she went through his clothes with varying degrees of annoyance. "Remember I told you about her?" 

"Ohhh," Scott said with a nod.

"Lydia, these are my friends, Scott and Isaac." He took a second long pause. "Well, I don't know if Isaac and I are friends so much as we tolerate each other for Scott's sake."

Isaac shrugged, not bothered. "Pretty much."

"Hello," Lydia said in greeting before tossing a black tank top at Stiles. "That first."

He stared at it, having forgot he had it. "What am I wearing over it?" he tried to ask before a pair of black skinnies with rips in the knees that he forgotten he owned smacked him in the face.

"Nothing," she said, smiling evilly when he gawked at her. "You're wearing that and shoes. Nothing else."

Stiles blinked at her, doe-eyed. "But it's cold out."

"I'm sure Peter will be all too willing to warm you up," she said, and Stiles flushed so hot he definitely needed to change into something cooler.

He awkwardly retreated into the bathroom and did just that. He turned this way and that in front of the mirror, checking out his lines and his butt. He had to admit that the minimalistic approach was working on him. He tested his breath then brushed his teeth and tongue quickly, before he headed out again.

Lydia and Isaac were talking about math, which was horrifying. Of course they would get along, since Isaac was majoring in linguistics and minoring in engineering. Scott had a slightly distressed smile on his face like they were speaking a whole different language and he was hoping he wouldn't be asked to participate.

Scott decided to save his friend. "How do I look?" He held out his arms in the 'tada!' pose.

Lydia gave him a critical look, dragging her eyes along his form like she was measuring his proportions and calculating his hotness, before she smiled approvingly. “Who knew you had that under all those layers?” she asked, standing up and snatching his hand. “Let’s go. Allison’s in the car.”

It was all he could do to wave at Scott and Isaac before he was tugged away. 

During the ride to the club, Allison talked about the routine she was working on, and Stiles had to look up a couple things she was talking about. Because while he knew what cartwheels and handstands were, he was lost on how to imagine her doing round offs and layouts. 

When they reached the club, Benji stared at his ID again after the girls had headed inside. Stiles glared, and eventually Lydia leaned out and grabbed the ID before jerking Stiles in by the front of his shirt. He was quickly coming to realize that she always got what she wanted, and he was going to have to go with it or get bowled over.

Lydia got three bottles of water at the bar, one for each of them, and Stiles stared at his for a moment. “What’s with the bottles of water, by the way?” he asked as Lydia drained a third of hers in about two swallows. 

Allison was drinking hers deeply too. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Hydration is very important if you’re participating in a scene. There’s a lot of physical and mental exertion. Peter offers free water to anyone because of it.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, blinking. It was kind of obvious when he thought about it. He popped off the top of his water and started to chug it, before following the girls through the club. They were heading for the back, and Stiles hoped Peter was back there. 

As they walked past one of the rooms, Stiles saw that one couple that had been doing complicated rope work the other day, and the girls waved at them. “Hey Erica, hey Boyd,” Allison said, and they waved back, friendly, before Boyd went back to running his hands along Erica’s naked back as she pressed her chest to his. She was topless again, and she had red lines along her arms and waist like she'd been restrained recently.

Stiles wondered if they stung and if it was pleasant. He wondered what it would feel like on his body, on his own pale skin. Then Lydia grabbed his hand and tugged him back into motion.

Peter was in the back, looking lickable in a black v-neck and dark blue jeans. Stiles was elated before he immediately deflated when he realized he wasn’t alone. He was talking to an attractive man with a square jaw and fantastic nose. Of course Peter had moved on. He probably had subs of all sorts throwing themselves down in front of him, begging to be taken.

Stiles felt his shoulders sag as Peter chuckled at something the other man said, touching his arm gently.

“Oh, Danny’s here,” Lydia said, looking back when she realized Stiles had stopped. She stared at his face a minute, before she looked at Peter, then back again. Finally she sighed deeply and hurled her nearly empty water bottle at Peter, smacking him in the butt.

Mortified, Stiles watched as Peter glanced down at the bottle at his feet then looked up. His eyes landed on Stiles, and he smiled in a way that made Stiles’s heart do a ridiculous little butterfly wing flutter. 

“Stiles,” he said. “I was hoping to see you again.”

“I’ll see you later, Peter,” Danny said with an easy smile, before he walked off. After a moment of quiet communication that Stiles wasn’t paying attention to, the ladies followed after, and that left Stiles and Peter alone.

“Sorry,” Stiles said, his face flushing at Peter approached him. “I wasn’t going to interrupt you. That was all Lydia.”

“She’s direct that way,” Peter agreed with a nod. “It’s not a problem though. We weren’t talking about anything important.” 

Stiles looked in the direction the Danny and the ladies had gone, before he jerked his eyes back to Peter. "He's not one of your...?" He flapped his hand wordlessly.

"My what?" Peter asked, smiling like he was amused.

It only made Stiles more flustered. "Your subs?" His face was on fire.

Mercifully, Peter didn't let him stew. "No, Danny is a dom. Also I never take more than one sub at a time. I am currently without."

"Oh," Stiles said, his relief plain.

"I do have my eye on someone though." Peter took a step closer.

"Oh?" Stiles asked, taking a breath and smelling Peter's pleasant aftershave.

"Yes," Peter said, leering, before he reached up and touched Stiles's cheek.

Well, that hit Stiles like a ton of bricks falling from two stories. " _Oh._ "

Peter's smile spread. "As I said, I was hoping to see you again." His hand slid down to Stiles's neck, and it was just as warm as the touch Stiles remembered. "I realized after I dropped you off the other night that I didn't give you a way to contact me."

"I felt dumb about not asking for your number too," Stiles admitted, ridiculously charmed by the handsome man before him. He wanted lean into him again or ride away on his motorcycle.

Peter's hand cupped Stiles's neck, fingertips teasing the short hairs on the back and making hin shiver. "I do have one other regret," Peter said.

"What's that?" Stiles asked, playing at coy even as he licked his lips. It delighted him that Peter's eyes dropped to his mouth, tracking the movement.

"That I did not bid you goodnight with a kiss," Peter said oh-so-smoothly.

Stiles grinned despite his burning face. "If you want to make up for lost time," he began, trying at suave like Peter but probably failing miserably, even as Peter gazed at him with fondness on his face. "Well, I mean, now is good. I'm free. Totally free for kissing."

Peter didn't say anything, just pulled Stiles toward him by the grip on his neck. Stiles tried not to fall against him as he went, his eyes falling shut and his lips softening. The kiss was gentle, certainly chaste for their surroundings, but it made Stiles's insides liquify into a churning pool of warm goop.

When Peter pulled back, Stiles didn't even try not to smile like a lovesick horndog. Peter looked peased with his response though and trailed his thumb along Stiles"s bottom lip. "We should should get a private room so we can..." He tilted his head as if trying to find the right word. "Talk," he decide, his smile belying his true intentions.

"I like talking," Stiles blurted out as the blush rose high on his cheeks again. "Talking is good, awesome. I'm a big talker. Let's talk." Some people had brain to mouth filters. Stiles was not one of them.

Peter didn't seem to mind that Stiles was about as smooth as a gravel driveway when nervous, instead dropping his hand from Stiles's neck to his hand. He started to lead him away, further into the club and toward the bored looking woman guarding the private rooms.

But Stiles stopped, realizing something, and Peter looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. "Does this mean you'll take me on?" he asked, swallowing. "As your sub?"

"Is that what you want?" Peter asked, and Stiles nodded hard without hesitation, making him smile. "Then yes." He gave Stiles's hand a squeeze and continued to lead him along. Stiles followed with some semblance of grace, even if his knees felt like rubber.

Peter requested the White Room and was given a key in the shape of a card like hotels had. As he was led down the hallway toward said room, Stiles had to wonder when the different colors meant. Different decor? Or was it a scale of kinkiness? White was simple and vanilla and black had a cage for punishing naughty subs, maybe.

The white room wasn't all white, thankfully, otherwise it would have been blinding and so very pretentious. The walls were eggshell, the carpet was plush and tan, and the furniture was light blue. All and all it was pleasant. That was even a huge bed with a white frame and deep blue covers.

Oh shit. A bed.

There was a bed, which meant they were going to do things on it, right? That was what beds were for. As much as he wanted to do things in that bed, he was reminded that his own sexual experience was mostly fumbling handjobs in the dark and penetration with glycerin filled lube. As much as he would have liked to have all kinds of awesome slow sex with proper exploration, he was in college and everyone lived in a dorm with a roommate. Also twin beds were not friendly to two bodies.

What would it be like having sex with someone who had mastered the art of it? He knew Peter would be patient with him, guide him, and he wanted to please him. But that was just regular sex. Throw in all the extra stuff, and Stiles was even more in the dark. He didn't want Peter to be unsatisfied.

Peter cleared his throat politely, and Stiles flushed head to toe when he realized he’d been staring at the bed like it held the secrets of the universe. "Sorry," he wheezed with a squeak. "Everything just sank in all at once."

"Ah," Peter said, before he ran his other hand up Stiles's arm. "Don't worry that now." He pulled Stiles over to the couch.

Stiles was going to sit, but Peter took hold of his hips and instructed him to stand between the V of Peter's open legs. It was odd how vulnerable he felt all of the sudden, even when he had the position of height. It must have had something to do with Peter's eyes roaming over him like he could see through his clothes and skin right down to his muscle and bones. And he liked what he saw.

"Do you have a safeword yet?" Peter asked, and Stiles let out a breath as Peter's hands ran up the backs of his legs, from his calves, over the sensitive backs of his knees and up his thighs to stop just under his butt.

"I made a list," Stiles admitted, rather ashamed by it. "At first it was just normal stuff like 'apple,' 'mathematics' and 'recycle,' but then I started adding things like 'demon trap,' 'sonic screwdriver' and 'high functioning sociopath.'"

"That last one has a few too many syllables for the situation," Peter said with an amused smile like he was trying not to laugh.

"You should have seen me when I was trying to weigh the pros and cons of yelling 'hulk smash!' I shouldn't be allowed to make choices." Stiles shuddered again and the tips of Peter's fingers dug into the back of his thighs a little.

"I would suggest going with traffic lights," Peter said, and Stiles blinked at him. "Green for all is well. Yellow for wanting to pause and discuss. And red for stopping completely."

"That sounds good," Stiles breathed, suddenly aware of the heat seeping into the backs of his thighs. Peter's hands were like scorching brands.

"Repeat it for me," Peter said in a low voice, his eyes piercing.

Stiles's breath hitched. "Green for good," he managed to say in a mostly even voice. "Yellow for discuss. Red for stop." He licked his lips, and they felt nearly chapped.

"Good," Peter said in something close to a purr, a slow smile curving his lips.

Stiles could have melted right there over that little bit of praise. Fuck, he was hungry for it.

"I don't want to do too much tonight, but I would like to undress you and stroke your cock until you come." Peter sounded so casual about it even as Stiles's throat closed up. "Is that alright?"

Not trusting his voice to be anything but squawky pterodactyl sounds, Stiles nodded. He lifted his arms helpfully as Peter took the hem of his tank and drew it up. The air was cool against his flushed skin, and he felt his nipples tighten and pebble immediately.

Peter hmm'ed, hopefully in approval, setting the shirt on the coffee table. "Cold?" he asked, trailing his fingers up Stiles's ribs to force a shuddering breath from his lungs, but Stiles shook his head.

He wasn't cold. He was on fire. 

Peter smiled, hands moving up to thumb gently at Stiles's nipples, startling a harsh noise out of him. "Hm, sensitive. I'm looking forward to putting a pair of clamps on these." He rolled his thumb pads against the nubs, making Stiles think that, with all the shocks going straight to his dick, this was going to he the first time he came from nipple play alone.

Stiles knew that if Peter ever did clamp his nipples, he'd be a total goner. He'd always known they were sensitive and liked to tweak them when he was jerking off, but beyond that he'd never paid much attention to them. Now he felt like his whole world was zeroed in on two points on his chest. He chewed his bottom lip and tried not to whine.

But Peter didn't linger for long, instead dragging his hands down. He skipped over the front of Stiles's skinnies, and Stiles had to fight not to thrust forward because he was already throbbing hard. Instead Peter leaned down to untie Stiles's shoes, pulling them and his socks off before setting them aside as Stiles waggled his toes in the carpet.

That made Peter let out a huff of laughter.

Finally Peter dragged his hands up and trails his fingers along the edge of Stiles’s jeans, causing him to suck his stomach in and hold his breath. Peter looked up through curled lashes at him, popping the button and pulling the zip down with his knuckles dragging along the line of Stiles’s cock. When he pushed Stiles’s pants and boxers down, his dick popped out as if to say ‘hello, blue eyes, mind if I party with you for a while?’ Peter looked at it as if he may give it a kiss in greeting, and Stiles was almost glad he didn’t because he was sure he couldn’t handle it.

After Stiles stepped out of his puddle of clothes, Peter took him by the hips, turned him around and pulled him back. Stiles stumbled a little but ended up in his lap with his legs on either side of Peter’s knees and his back against his chest. He didn’t quite understand until Peter spread his own legs and Stiles’s were forced so wide apart that Stiles scrambled to hold onto Peter’s arms when he thought he might slip off the couch and onto his butt.

“I’ve got you,” Peter murmured directly into his ear, and Stiles couldn’t help the tiny moan that he let out as his cock twitched against his stomach. “Give me your hands.” Peter held his palms up, and Stiles set his hands in them, feeling that scorching warmth again. Peter took his hands and set them on the couch on either side of their hips. “Keep your hands there, alright? Don’t move them until I tell you to. Understand?” 

Stiles dragged in a shaky breath, nodding. “Y-yeah,” he said, hooking his thumbs into the crevices where the cushions met and trying to hold on even though the fabric was soft and slick.

Rather suddenly, like a light bulb coming on and whacking him in the face, Stiles had a thought that was a little embarrassing. "Uh," he tried, watching Peter's hands drag along his thighs.

"Yes?" Peter asked, thumbing Stiles's hipbones.

"Should I call you 'sir?'" He asked, before he sank down a little as Peter looked at him. "Or, like..." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "...'master?'"

To his credit, Peter didn't laugh, though he did smile. "Definitely not the second one," he said, and Stiles felt a knot loosen between his shoulders. "'Sir' is fine if you need it. Do you?"

"Um." Stiles flicked his eyes around. He'd never really thought about it before. Did he want someone to have that kind of position of power? It seemed a bit impersonal, but it was also a commonplace thing. He shrugged. "I don't know."

Peter pressed a kiss to Stiles's shoulder. "Call me by my name until you figure it out." And then he put his hand around Stiles's cock.

Stiles made a sound that was probably 'oh!' and tried not to writhe around. Peter's grip was sure and tight, stroking him up and down and thumbing the head. Stiles gripped the cushions all the tighter, putting his head back on Peter's shoulder. It was so good, so driven that Stiles was bound to reach orgasm in no time.

When Stiles bit his bottom lip to keep sounds from getting out, Peter reached up with his other hand and dragged his chin down so his lip pulled free. "Don't you dare censor yourself," he said right into Stiles's ear. "This room is soundproof. The noises you make are all mine."

Stiles didn't know how to be loud, not really. It was funny that sometimes his inside voice was liking yelling across a stadium, but all if his sexual adventures had involved him being quiet as a mouse. After eighteen years in his family home, biting the heel of his palm or his pillow and another three years with Scott right _over there_ , it was ingrained in him to be silent. He pressed his lips together again when Peter stroked him.

"No?" Peter asked, and Stiles whimpered, so Peter clucked his tongue. His hand loosened, his fingertips pressing against the thick vein along the underside of Stiles’s cock while he hooked his thumb around the top. His grip was loose now, teasing in an agonizing way.

Stiles squirmed, lifting one hand just a bit and Peter's hand stopped all together. With a frustrated sound in his throat, Stiles grabbed onto the cushion again, hoping Peter would go back to pulling him with a purpose. He didn't, just using that light touch and swiping his fingers over the head of his dick lightly. That wasn't fair at all.

As Stiles twitched his hips this way and that, chasing the touch, Peter smiled against his neck. "You're not used to staying still, are you?" he asked, and Stiles whimpered out an affirmative. "It's refreshing, this level of responsiveness, but it's not all I want." He let go of Stiles's dick all together, moving his hand down to cup Stiles's balls and press his fingers just behind them.

"I want you to moan and scream, to drop your inhibitions and abandon whatever notion it is keeping you silent." Peter scratched his nails lightly along the thin and _sensitive_ skin of his balls. Stiles whimpered and bucked, putting his head back. Peter's mouth was on his neck then, his lips and tongue like a hot brand. Stiles wanted him to mark him, to let everyone know that he had a dom.

But Peter only kissed his way up to his ear. "Beg for it, tell me how much you want me to make you come," he said, breath hot and a little damp, making Stiles whine as the hairs on his neck lifted with goosebumps. "And do it loud."

Stiles gnawed at his lip. This is what he wanted, wasn't it? For someone to pull him open, look at what was inside and rearrange the pieces with a careful hand. Peter was offering to let him be completely wanton, free. He twitched as a part of him wailed at him. Here he was, sitting naked on the lap of someone he barely knew at all with a hand in tender places. This was ridiculous! That was what the voice was calling out, but it was fading. He wanted more. He wanted it all.

"Please!" he cried, clear and high as a bell. "Please let me come, Peter. I want to come so bad." Parts of him, low and hot, clenched on nothing with his words, and he could swear he felt a twitch of something hard against his lower back. 

That Peter was turned too just made precome well at the head of his dick. 

Peter caught that pearl with the pad of his thumb, slicking it down the length of his dick. Then he just held him, and Stiles let out a mournful sound. Really? That begging wasn't enough? Peter just chuckled into his ear. "Don't worry, beautiful," he said, and Stiles shuddered at the endearment. "I'm going to give you what you need."

Stiles watched as Peter reached over with his free hand to dig into a pocket on the inside of the couch arm. He pulled out a couple individual packets of wet naps and a small bottle of lube. Stiles recognized the brand immediately. It was the expensive kind, like at least ten dollars for four ounces. He'd done enough research once he found out that KY was shit and possibly harmful.

He quickly dropped those thoughts by the wayside as Peter slicked up his fingers and palm and wrapped his hand around Stiles's dick again. Then he didn't even bother playing around.

"Oh fuck!" Stiles shouted as he was stroked with a purpose, holding onto the cushions for dear life. He put his head back and tried to drown out the wet sounds of the hand on his dick, pulling moans and screams from within a hidden place deep inside himself. He didn't let himself fall back into old habits, punching out grunts and calls, sometimes even Peter's name and a whole lot of 'please's.

"I can tell you're close," Peter murmured into his ear, before he nipped the lobe. Stiles could only whine the affirmative. "Come for me."

Stiles came like his dick was powered by rocket propulsion. He shouted so hard his throat hurt as come flew the the air, landing in his chest and stomach. He twitched with aftershocks, letting out tiny noises every time one rocked his body.

Then he was being moved, being laid down gently on the couch with his head propped on the arm. He watched through half-lidded eyes as Peter ripped open a couple of the wet wipes and cleaned up Stiles's front. He wiped up his own hands, making sure to get between his fingers. Then he got up. Stiles lazily tracked him with his eyes, and he could see Peter's cock ruining the line of his trousers as he threw away the wipes and picked up a bottle of water off the table.

"Shouldn't I...?" Stiles tried to say, his voice a bit harsh. His throat hurt a little. He tried to paw at Peter's crotch when he returned, but Peter just grabbed his hand and knelt next to him, offering the open bottle of water.

"Drink," Peter said, looking amused.

Stiles did, not realizing how thirsty he was until he had the water there for him. He drank at least half until he closed his eyes with a sigh.

Peter put the water on the coffee table and kept kneeling next to him, soothing his sweaty hair back and touching his face. "You did wonderfully," he said, a soft praise that made Stiles's heart bloom.

Opening his eyes, Stiles licked his lips, sitting up even if his arms felt a bit like noodles and his legs were dead weight. Peter moved in beside him, and Stiles didn't waste time pawing at the front of his pants, trying to give his flagging dick some love.

Peter let out a laugh almost like he was startled, taking his hand and pulling it up to kiss his fingertips. "None of that now. There's plenty of time for it later."

"But..." Stiles tried, and he only pouted a little when Peter shook his head. "Why not?"

"There are still things we need to discuss before we go forward," Peter said, and he elaborated at Stiles's eager face. "In detail. And not here."

Stiles deflated a little. "Oh."

But Peter cupped the side of his face and kissed him, and it wasn't a soft thing. It was all heat, teeth and tongue, and Stiles was breathless at the end of it, feeling pleasantly dizzy. "Do not be disheartened," Peter said, swiping his thumb over Stiles's bottom lip. "There are so many things I want to do with you. I can tell we are going to be so good together."

With a shiver of anticipation, Stiles had to agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale) for the read.
> 
> Next chapter: Peter gives Stiles a list. (By **8/2/14** )


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a list to fill out, and he is very thorough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> Early update again! xD It's longer than I intended too.

Meeting Peter at a little cafe to talk felt a little weird to Stiles, especially when they were going to be talking about kinky shit. But Peter had chosen the place, texting him the address after they had exchanged numbers. It was within walking distance of the university, and Lydia said she frequented it because they served delicious muffins. Stiles was all about muffins.

When he walked in, he was greeted with cream and tan decor with pale pink accents. There were little round tables with metal chairs. Most of them were taken, and Stiles found Peter in the corner, waving him over.

"Hello, Stiles," Peter said, standing up to give him a kiss on the cheek before he gestured to the seat across from him. "How are you today?"

"Great," Stiles said, sitting down. "Yourself?" There was a muffin already in front of him, chocolate chip with a sugar encrusted top. He picked it up, and it was still warm.

"I'm good," Peter said with a friendly smile as Stiles inhaled the top of the muffin like a monster. "How are your classes? You're in your third year, correct? What are you majoring in?"

Stiles was a little confused as to why Peter was asking all of these questions. Weren't they supposed to be talking about what would go on in the bedroom? It must have shown on his face, because Peter chuckled.

"I like to have an at least friendly relationship with my sub. Is that okay?" Peter's smile had not faltered.

"Oh, right, duh, sorry." Stiles flushed a little then took two more bites of his gooey chocolate filled muffin while he got his head on straight. "Um, yeah, third year. Loving it so far. I'm majoring in education. I want to be an elementary teacher."

"Teaching, hm?" 

"My mom was a teacher."

Peter nodded and did not pry as to the past tense of Stiles's statement. "I taught high school for a while."

"No way," Stiles couldn't help but say.

"Yes. I have two degrees. One is in English literature, so I taught senior English for three years. I didn't like it from the very start though. The students were, in most cases, unenthusiastic about reading the Canterbury Tales and Hamlet. And none of them wanted to write argumentative papers, even if they were passionate about the subject." He waved his hand. "So I left."

"What's your other degree?" Stiles asked, pretty sure that there wasn't a class called Ethics of D/s Relationships. Maybe it was business management.

Peter's smile changed a little. "You may laugh."

"Doubt it."

Peter shifted. "Paleontology," he said simply.

Stiles did laugh, but it was more a bark of surprise than anything. "You're joking."

"Hardly," Peter said with easy smoothness. "I am a dinosaur fanboy, and I am unashamed. I worked at a museum after my teaching years and went to a few digs, but I had connections in the city that I couldn't abandon completely, so I ended up opening up the clubs."

"Oh, cool." Stiles licked the chocolate from his thumb, not missing the way Peter's eyes zeroed in on the movement. He dragged his tongue slowly across his lips just because he could. 

Peter narrowed his eyes at him. "Tease." He said with a smirk. 

"Maybe." Stiles wasn't going to deny it.

With a fond huff, Peter reached into his light jacket and pulled out an unassuming white envelope and slid it across the table. On the front, in neat curvy script, was Stiles's name. Stiles took it, lifting the flap in the back and pulling out a few sheets of paper.

"This list has fifty things that I am more than willing to do with you. I narrowed it down from a much larger list, so if something is missing that you want to try, feel free to add it," Peter said as he watched him.

Stiles was just trying to get over the fact that this list had /fifty things/ on it. He looked at the first page, which seemed to be an instructional one. Each item had a row of three boxes. The first was the name of the act. The second was for indicating experience—Ex for experienced, and In for inexperienced—as well as a number for the willingness to do said act. ‘No’ was for hard limit, which meant he had no desire to do that act and could not be persuaded. 0 was that he had no desire but would if his dom really wanted to. 1 for ‘no particular interest’. 2 for ‘willing to do’. 3 for ‘want to sometimes’. 4 for ‘wanted to do regularly’. And 5 for ‘want to do all the time, please, please, please’! Stiles was just paraphrasing. The final box was for him to write a comment if he wanted.

Stiles felt his face heat up as he skimmed the list. He was going to have to take his time with this.

"I know you like to do your own research," Peter went on, and Stiles looked up at him. "But if you have any questions, feel free to text me. Especially if you want to know how I, personally, would do something for you. And take as much time as you need."

"Okay," Stiles said, carefully folding the list and putting it back in its envelope, but he put it in his book bag. "So, since you like dinosaurs. What do you think about Jurassic Park?"

Peter looked a little pained. "I don't know if you're ready for this conversation. Don't you have class?"

Grinning, Stiles shook his head. "Not for two hours. Lay it on me."

So Peter did. And Stiles learned more about dinosaurs and the periods—Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous—than he would ever need, but he didn't complain because he liked listening to Peter's voice.

* * *

All during his afternoon classes, of which there are two but they were both ninety minutes, Stiles kept looking at his bag where the list was stashed between his Psychology of Child Development book and his European History book. He could barely concentrate enough to take notes in class. When his last class was over, he booked it to his dorm room, ready to devote all his energy into filling out that list.

Except, when he got there, Scott was there, sitting at the double desk they shared and messing around on his laptop.

Scott looked up and smiled. “Hey, dude. I got a bit of extra cash. You want pizza tonight?” 

“Uh,” was the first thing out of Stiles’s brain, and he furrowed his brows. “I thought you were hanging with Isaac tonight.”

“I was, but he has a head cold, so he just wanted to take a bunch of Nyquil and sleep it off. I told him I would spoon feed him chicken noodle soup if he’d let me, but he just buried himself in his bed and told me to go away,” Scott said with a wave of a hand.

Stiles tried not to whine. “You should try harder. He’s your—” He made a vague gesture. “—thing.” Boy thing. Man thing. Boyfriend thing. Lover thing. One of those things.

Scott, because he wasn’t a total idiot, lifted his brows and gave Stiles a critical look. “Why are you trying to get me to leave? Are you expecting company? You should have told me earlier.”

“No, no,” Stiles said with a sigh as he moved over to the desk to sit next to his friend. “I’ve got—I’ve just got this _homework_ I need to work on.” At Scott’s kind of pinched, confused expression, he blew out a breath. “From Peter,” he elaborated.

Scott’s brows went up into his bushy bangs. “Liiiike sexy homework?” He made a face like he wasn’t actually sure if he wanted to know but couldn’t help but ask because he was curious.

Stiles grabbed his bag and pulled out the envelope. “It’s a list,” he explained, unfolding the papers and holding them up so Scott could see. “To see what I’d be comfortable doing and what I wouldn’t.”

Scott stared at the list for a long moment, before he squinted at Stiles. “Do you want my help looking stuff up? If you want to… do that… something?”

Stiles smiled. This was why they were friends. “Nah, man, that’s cool. I really appreciate the offer and love you to death, but I wouldn’t subject you to that.” 

The sigh that Scott let out was definitely relieved. “Pizza?”

“Yes, please. You know what I like.” Stiles ruffled Scott’s thick hair like he was the best puppy in the world.

Scott just grinned and slapped at his hand. “Be back in a bit.” He got up, grabbing his wallet and heading out the door. 

Time to get started on that list. Stiles laid the instructional page on the desk above the other pages, so he could reference it easily enough. He cracked his knuckles and got started.

The first item made him snort. He knew exactly what to say about that.

1\. Anal Sex - _Ex - 5 - Please let me sit on your dick._

The second item made him tap his pen against his lips a bit. He wasn't too familiar with it even if he _had_ seen it in porn. It wasn't something that set him all a tingle, but it didn't gross him out either.

2\. Anal Beads - _In - 2 - I'm never done it, but I'll try it._

The next three on the list were grouped together. Anal plugs. Small and large, as well as worn under clothes. Stiles shifted in his seat, not sure how to respond to this except that the idea of Peter plugging him up made him squirm. Would Peter want to do that? He bit his lip and grabbed his phone.

 **I have a question.** he sent off to Peter, still a little bit amazed that the man was a texter. But, he supposed you had to be in this day and age.

 **I have an answer.** was Peter's almost immediate response.

Stiles had to wonder what he was doing at the moment. Was he at home, making himself dinner or chowing down on Thai take out? Was he relaxing? Or maybe he was at one of his clubs, going through the books or ordering a billion bottles of water. Stiles couldn't imagine him vegging out on the couch in sweat pants, shoving Doritos in his mouth and watching a movie that was 80% explosions. He was too much of an... adult?

 **How big is a small anal plug? And how big is a large one?** he asked, feeling like Googling that would lead him down a path to further confusion. What he found online probably would probably be so varied, whereas he was interested in what Peter had to say.

 **It varies. I have seven plugs, three beginner sizes, two medium, one large and one very large.** Peter sent back, and that had Stiles squirming again. **Four of them are silicone. Two are metal. And one is glass.** was Peter's next message.

Stiles was already five seconds from palming himself through his pants. He wasn't hard yet, but he could probably get there pretty fast if he tried. **Oh, okay.** was his reply, and wow if that wasn't just totally lame.

**I'll show them to you when you come over someday.**

When, not if. Peter was confident that Stiles would end up in his home, and Stiles was pretty sure he was right. He wanted the privacy and intimacy of being in Peter's home, where they could do /anything/ they wanted.

3\. Anal Plugs (small) - _In - 4 - I think I could be into it._

4\. Anal Plugs (large) - _In - 2 - Depends on how large._

Stiles had another question. **When it says an anal plug is worn under clothes, what exactly does that mean? I can guess the obvious, but what kind of situation is it?**

 **That is a good question. I have instructed my subs to wear a plug two or three hours before they see me, usually as foreplay. I do use it as a standard punishment too.**

Stiles shuddered a little.

**For you, I would give you one of my smaller plugs and ask that you wear it during your classes. That way every time you moved, you'd think of me.**

"Shit," Stiles murmured against the back of his hand. If Peter went on like this, he really was going to get hard.

 **Would you want to do that for me?** Bastard. Stiles could practically hear him, see his soft, evil smile in his head.

 **Yeah. I would.** was about the most coherent reply he could come up with. He didn’t know if Peter would appreciate him going ‘asfafdas.’

5\. Anal Plugs (public under clothes) - _In - 5 - Just tell me when._

The next box on the list made him tilt his head quizzically. Instead of bothering Peter, he put his Googling abilities to use, typing ‘asphyxiation kink’ into the search bar. The wiki page was pretty insightful, detailing the different methods of erotic asphyxiation. Hanging, suffocation with a plastic bag, ligatures and chest compressions did not sound sexy. Though apparently the whole thing had started out as a treatment for erectile dysfunction.

The more you knoooow!

6\. Asphyxiation - _In - 0 - I don’t see the appeal._

The next one and the one after that were no brainers. And he finally got to use all caps.

7\. Blindfolds - _In - 5 - YES PLEASE!!_

8\. Being Bitten - _Ex - 5 - Bite me everywhere._

He was smiling after those, hoping that Peter would be just as into them as he would. The next item made him pause though, his brow furrowing. Breath control? But wasn’t that the same as…? He picked up his phone. 

**What’s the difference between asphyxiation and breath control?** he asked, but Google was not being helpful. He needed to know what Peter’s difference was.

 **Levels of suffocation.** was Peter’s immediate text. **For me, breath control would be light choking at most, where you might feel light headed, but that’s all. Asphyxiation is serious choking to the point of near passing out.**

Well, that was terrifying.

 **I wasn’t sure if you were interested in all in either of those.** Peter went on. **I have only done legitimate asphyxiation with one partner, so I’m open to it in moderation.**

 **I think I’ll pass.** Stiles sent back.

**As is your right. I wouldn’t pressure you into anything you are uncomfortable with.**

Stiles smiled, that gooey happy feeling starting up in his stomach and chest again. He liked this dude so much, he wanted to do cartwheels. Or, he would want to except that the last time he’d done a cartwheel was while he was drunk at a frat party, and he’d ended up in a hospital. 

9\. Breath Control - _In - 0 - No interest._

He moved on in the list. The next one was something he was so eager to try he didn’t even have to think about it. 

10\. Bondage (light) - _In - 5 - All day, everyday._

The next one was nearly the same, but it required more consideration. He grabbed his phone again.

**What does heavy bondage mean to you?**

**Extreme methods of restraint and control.** Peter answered. **I know you said that mummification and isolation tanks are hard limits. There are other things like hog tying, arm and leg sleeves, straight jackets, excessive uses of duct tape and suspension.**

Stiles made a face, his nose scrunching up. 

That was the exact moment that Scott came in with a box of pizza. He laughed at Stiles’s expression. “You look like you just smelled a poo.”

Laughter bubbled out of Stiles, before he blew a raspberry. “Fuck you.” He turned away from his friend a bit and tapped away at his phone. **Pass, I think.** He thought about it a moment and added, **The hog tying might be okay though.**

**I have soft rope to test it out.**

Stiles gave a full body shudder, letting out a weird noise. He looked up to find Scott giving him a weird look. “Shut up.”

“I did not say a thing,” Scott said, handing him some napkins and holding out the pizza box for him, because what college student used plates?

11\. Bondage (heavy) - _In - 2? - I’m not completely sure until I see what the bondage is._

After more or less inhaling his food, Stiles went back to his list. And he had another question. 

**What exactly is public bondage under clothes?** he sent off to Peter, confused. He was pretty sure that any bondage would be totally obvious.

 **It’s usually knotting work over the chest, back and thighs. It’s hidden from sight, but every time you move, you feel it.** Peter replied, and yup, Stiles was back to squirming. At least Scott was so involved in his reading that he didn’t notice. **Two to three ropes would loop under your pelvis and up the crack of your ass if you’re interested.**

Stiles licked his lips. **I might be.**

12\. Bondage (worn under clothes) - _In - 3 - I’d definitely like to try it out._

Moving on… And Stiles had another question! He was quickly discovering that he didn’t know as much as he thought he did. That was probably the point of this exercise though, to figure out his knowledge base and increase it.

 **If you caned me, where would you do it? Just the ass, or?** Stiles asked.

**Ass, back of thighs, calves and the soles of your feet. It’s for people that like serious stinging and welts.**

Stiles made a funny noise and tried to curl up in a ball, ending up knocking his knees on the underside of the desk. That managed to hurt like a bitch too.

Scott looked up from his reading at the noise. “What’s wrong?”

Looking at him, Stiles wasn’t sure how to word this without being completely blatant. “Did you know people like getting caned on the underside of their feet?”

Scott, who had been sitting with his legs out in a kind of sprawl around his reading, shifted and curled his legs protectively underneath him. Then he hid behind his book.

“Exactly,” Stiles agreed, before he shot off a text to Peter. **That’s sufficiently scary.**

13\. Caning - _In - No - You leave my feet alone!_

The next item on the list made Stiles zone out almost entirely. Seriously, Scott would have had to push him out of his chair to get his attention. Cock worship. What did Peter's cock look like? Was it long and fat? Or was it on the smaller end? Was he cut or uncut? As someone who wrote a ten page paper on the history of male circumcision, he knew that it was possible Peter could have foreskin for a variety of reasons.

Stiles had seen plenty of cocks, only a couple up close, but he'd watched enough porn to know that he liked dick. And he would like Peter's too. He wanted to see it, to touch it. He wanted to lick it and suck it until Peter couldn't help but thrust into his mouth.

14\. Cock Worship - _In - 4 - I want to worship your cock when I see it._

As he continued down the list, Stiles bit his lip. The next two items were about collars. He reached up and touched his neck where it would rest, shivering at the idea of having a mark of Peter's dominance so obvious on his skin. A collar wouldn't fade away like a bite mark.

 **Do you have a collar I can wear?** he sent off to Peter, chewing his bottom lip puffy.

**I don't have one on hand, but I will order one for you first thing. What color would you like?**

Stiles didn't even have to think about it. **Can you choose for me?**

**I would be delighted to.**

Stiles went back to his list.

15\. Collars (worn in private) - _In - 5 - ASAP._

16\. Collars (worn in public) - _In - 3 - At the club only._

For a little while after that, Stiles didn't need to ask Peter any questions. The list was pretty straightforward.

17\. Corsets - _In - 0 - I like my organs where they are._

18\. Cuffs (leather) - _In - 5 - Do you own these? I bet you own five pairs._

19\. Cuffs (metal) - _Ex - 0 - My dad's a sheriff, and he had to arrest me once. It's not a turn on._

20\. Dildos - _Ex - 5 - I have one, but I haven't used it in a long time. I'd love if you used it or a different one on me or ordered me to use it on myself while you watched._

Stiles's face was burning because it was warm out, really.

The next item in the list made Stiles tilt his head. He grabbed his phone.

 **Isn't double penetration a thing for women?** he asked.

 **With enough care and lube, two toys or a penis and a toy can fit inside an anal cavity.** Peter replied.

 **Oh.** What else was there to say to that? Obviously he wasn't watching exciting enough porn.

21\. Double Penetration - _In - 3 - I've never been much of a size queen, but I'm always curious._

22\. Face Slapping - _In - No - Not the face!_

23\. Fisting - _In - 3 - I'm up to the challenge._

24\. Flogging - _In - ? - I still don't know!_

25\. Following Orders - _Ex - 5 - I'm liking it so far._

The next item on the list was kind of concerning. Gags. He was worried, especially since he was new to this, that if he were gagged he wouldn’t be able to properly communicate that he was uncomfortable with a situation. He knew that Peter was intuitive and careful, but still. He was worried. He didn’t want to be silenced.

26\. Gags (cloth) - _In - 0 - I’m a talker._

27\. Gags (rubber) - _In - 0 - Tasty!_

Was he mature enough to fill out this list? He felt a bit silly about his comments.

28\. Hair Pulling - _Ex - 5 - Tug away._

29\. Hand Jobs (giving) - _Ex - 5 - I have a technique_

30\. Hand Jobs (receiving) - _Ex - 5 - But yours is better._

Stiles shifted in his seat, vividly remember Peter’s hand on him, the way he’d held him with such care and confidence, even if it was the first time Stiles had been naked with him. His touch had been fire, licking his inner thighs and filling him with hot smoke. Dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, he blew out a breath through his nose, trying not to pop a boner with his best friend sitting like six feet away.

31: Head (giving/receiving fellatio) - _Ex - 5 - Definitely into both._

And now Stiles was thinking about Peter’s dick again. He’d felt it, kind of, when he’d been sitting Peter’s lap. It had practically been saying hello to his ass while Peter was pulling him off. He had wanted to open the front of Peter’s pants and take it into his hand, his mouth. He still wanted to. Maybe he could could go to his knees expectantly next time he saw Peter. Would he like that?

The next item on the list did not help at all. _Shit._

32\. Head (deepthroating) - _n - 4 - Definitely want to try it._

At the next item, Stiles had to think about. He couldn’t really come up with any opinions on it, so he turned around and looked at Scott. His friend had a highlighter cap between his teeth and was turning a whole page of his math book yellow.

“Hey,” Stiles said, and Scott looked up, eyebrows risen. “What do you think about ice?”

Scott blinked, his eyes flicking around. “Liiiike…” He reached up and took the cap out of his mouth. “As is cooling my drinks? ‘Cause I appreciate that in general.”

Snorting, Stiles shook his head. “No, I mean during sex.” Scott didn’t seem to go with this, so Stiles elaborated. “Like, all over your body, I guess. And your junk.”

Scott’s nose scrunched up. “Wouldn’t that kind of defeat the purpose and make it all numb and stuff?”

“And stuff,” Stiles said with a shrug, because really he didn’t know. 

33\. Ice Play - _In - 2 - I don’t know if ice would feel nice. Hey, that rhymed._

34\. Intricate Rope Bondage - _In - 3 - I’d be down for it if I could sit still long enough._

Stiles bit his lip again at the next one. Kneeling. He was just imagining Peter ordering him onto his knees and all the things that came after. But at the same time he didn’t want to be a passive participant. He was pretty sure Peter knew that.

35\. Keeling - _In - 3 - I would kneel if you asked me to, but I don’t want to spend all my time on my knees._

36\. Licking - _Ex - 4 - I dig it. A lot._

Stiles almost dropped his pen at the next item. It wasn’t something he had ever thought of for himself, but it made his face burn now that he was considering it. “Shit,” he whispered, licking his lips.

37\. Lingerie (panties, stockings, etc) - _In - 4? - Is this a thing we can do? Because I didn’t know I wanted it until right now!_

38: Marking (bites marks and/or bruises) - _Ex - 5 - I want people to know I’m yours._

The moment Stiles wrote that, he froze and stared at it. Did that sound as desperate as it looked? It wasn’t like he wanted to tattoo Peter’s name across his chest (or ass). He just wanted people to look at him, to see the marks, and know that he was with someone. He didn’t actually want to look like a tiger mauling victim… visibly, anyway. He could be all sorts of marks up under his clothes and press his fingers against them through the day, bringing a vivid memory to his mind.

He left those words where they lay. 

39\. Nipple Clamps - _In - 3 - You mentioned these before, so I’m interested._

40\. Oral/Anal Play (rimming) - _Ex - 4 - I’ve only had it done to me once, and I loved it._

41\. Orgasm Control - _In - 5 - Tell me when and how far to shoot._

Stiles giggled to himself, grinning like a doofus.

“What?” Scott asked from behind him.

Stiles didn’t look back, afraid his wide smile would startle his friend. “I just made joke about jizzing.”

Scott gave a long suffering sigh and didn’t respond.

42\. Phone Sex - _In - 4 - Can this be a thing? I don’t have much privacy, but I want to do it._

The next item was riding crops, and at first he wrote a 2 next to it, but then he stopped. He picked up his phone again.

**Do you have a riding crop?**

**I have three, all soft braided leather.** Of course he did.

Stiles huffed softly. **What does it feel like? Is it like caning?**

**No. The sting is much lighter, and it doesn’t leave the same kind of marks or welts. The impact area is also much smaller. I’d have to show you to really have you understand.**

**Whenever I think about riding crops, I think about horses.**

**I do have a pair of riding boots if that helps with the fantasy. ;)**

Stiles’s mouth went dry despite the emote, and he scratched out that 2.

43\. Riding Crops - _In - 4 - Show me._

44\. Scratching - _Ex - 5 - I love a little pain with my pleasure._

The next item had Stiles confused again. Slings. He decided to Google it, but every result he got was something that didn’t look like it could be applied to a scene. He grabbed his phone again.

**So, slings. I tried to look them up, and I’ve got arm slings, baby slings and sling shots. I have a feeling I’m missing something here.**

**Try “sex slings” this time.**

Duuuh. Stiles did, and _oh_. Okay. At least Peter wasn’t laughing at him. Or maybe he was, Stiles couldn’t know.

 **Now I get it. Is that a thing for you?** he asked.

 **I own one, but it’s in storage. I haven’t had a sub interested in it for a while now.** Peter told him, and that Stiles could understand. **I’m going to bed. feel free to text me in the morning if you have more questions.**

Stiles glanced at the time on his computer and blanched. **Shit, it’s nearly one in the morning! Sorry! I didn’t mean to keep you up.**

**You didn’t, don’t worry. I enjoy talking to you anyway. Good night, Stiles.**

**Night.** Stiles sent back with a goofy smile on his face, before he bit his lips together to keep them from splitting apart.

He went on Googling sex slings, finding out the different types and how many positions he could get into using one. It was all pretty informative. He even found a written by a dom named Peter Masters and he kind of squinted at it. Sure, Peter was a common name, but still. Then he read that Peter Masters was Australian, and that answered that.

45\. Slings - _In - 2 - Looks like it could be fun._

So Stiles moved on to the next item, and he was back to tilting his head. Sounding? What the hell was sounding? He decided to Google “sex sounding” to hopefully narrow down the results. That took him to a Wikipedia page for “urethral sounding.” And about thirty seconds later, Stiles wanted to hide under the table. But just because he wasn’t horrified enough, he went to Google images and shortly found out that sometimes the sounding rods _break_.

He wanted to cry.

46\. Sounding - _In - No - NO!_

For good measure, Stiles decided to write ‘NO’ again and fill the box with O’s.

47\. Spanking - _In - 4 - Put me over your knee and show me who’s boss._

Stiles had to Google the next item, because he was not familiar with spreader bars. He tilted his head at the results. He understood the appeal, but it was not for him, he didn’t think.

48\. Spreader Bar - _In - 1- That just looks awkward. I’d rather you tie my ankles to bedposts._

49\. Tickling - _Ex - No - Please no. I tend to pee when I’m laughing really hard._

Peter probably didn’t want to know that, but oh well, there it was. Stiles was too lazy to find that one bottle of white out he bought in the beginning of the school year.

50\. Vibrators - _Ex - 5 - Love it._

“I’m done!” Stiles cried, putting his arms up in victory. He looked over to find Scott all bundled up in his covers with his sleep mask on and earbuds in, his iPod in his hand. He was snoring a little. That was when Stiles noticed how dark it was in the room, the only light being his computer screen. When had Scott turned the lights off?

Stiles folded up the list and stuffed it into the envelope, before he shut off the screen of his desktop computer. That sent him into total darkness, and he bumped his knee into the edge of his bed and he headed toward the bathroom that his and Scott’s room shared with one other. He needed to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

He also needed to take care of the low level arousal he’d been suffering through for a few hours now. He stripped down and stood outside the shower as the water got hot, before he stepped in and sighed as he bent his head under the steam and felt it beat down on the backs of his shoulders.

Stiles didn’t even have to try to come up with fantasy material. His mind just started cycling through things as he wrapped his fingers around his cock and started stroking. He wanted to see Peter naked, wanted to touch his skin and be touched, wanted Peter to pull him into position and fuck his face. 

He bit his lip to keep a noise in, knowing Peter wouldn’t want him to be quiet. Peter would want him to be loud and shameless.

Stiles had to wonder if Peter liked to watch. He knew he enjoyed flogging scenes, but would he get Stiles all slick and open then tell him to fuck himself on a dildo? Would he make him ride a thick piece of silicone until he was on the edge then take over?

Oh, and how would Peter fuck him? Would he be gentle and roll his hips in slow circles? Or would he go hard and fast, his cock driving into Stiles like a train piston. Stiles could bet it was a mixture of both. He’d probably do a mixture of both, maybe go slow and first then work up to fucking him hard. He could just imagine Peter working him until he was about to come, then he would stop and start all over, go from slow to fast, then stop every time Stiles was about to blow. Stiles would have to beg.

“Please let me come,” Stiles whispered into the back of his hand, his eyes shut tight as he jerked his dick like he was stripping it.

And Peter would eventually give him that smile and let him.

Stiles bit his knuckles, shooting all over the shower wall. He sagged a bit, panting with a sloppy smile on his face. His toes felt all tingly. He wiped at the streaks of come on the tile, before he went about washing his hair and body, a pleased thrum going through his body.

He couldn’t wait to see Peter again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale) for the read!
> 
> There is so much **bold** and _italics_ in this, holy shit. I may avoid further text conversations out of sheer laziness.
> 
> Next update by **8/10/14**.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally Stiles and Peter are alone together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> This update is a bit early, I suppose. I wrote it mostly in one sitting.

The first thing Stiles did when he woke up, after rubbing the sleep from his eyes, was shoot a text to Peter. **I finished the list.** it said. He glanced at the clock. It was after ten in the morning, and he was tempted to sleep through his noon class.

Scott was already gone, his bedding in a wad next to his pillow.

 **Glad to hear it.** Peter sent back, and Stiles shuffled and bit further down into his blanket cocoon, smiling. **When can I see you?**

 **Saturday?** Stiles sent back, knowing the week was going to be murder. It was only Wednesday. 

**Saturday is fine.**

**Cool, I'll try to get all my homework done Friday.** He had done it before, and he could do it again. It just involved him being completely antisocial.

 **Responsible.** was Peter's opinion. **Will you stay the night?**

Stiles had to think about it. It wouldn't be like grabbing his pillow and Star Wars sleeping bag and going to "camp" in Scott's backyard. There wasn't going to be video games or cheesy snacks. There was going to be sex. Kinky sex. Sex that would push his physical and emotional boundaries. He might now want to stay. He might want to have time to himself. He couldn't be sure.

 **I might.** he sent back, gnawing at his lip. **I'll drive just in case.**

**Of course.**

Stiles smiled, because Peter wasn't pushy. He got up and went to his classes, feeling floaty, and learned nothing.

* * *

Thursday was _boring_. Stiles exchanged good morning texts with Peter before his classes, but he didn't want to super clingy so he didn't bother Peter after that. Besides, if Peter wanted to talk, he had fingers too. Right? Yeah.

That didn't stop Stiles from being eager when his phone beeped at him around lunch time. **Hi, it's Allison. Peter gave me your number. Lydia and I were wondering if you wanted to get In-N-Out for lunch.**

Oh. Okay. That was not what he'd been expecting. **I usually eat lunch with my friends, Scott and Isaac.**

 **Bring them along. The more the merrier. :D** Allison sent back.

Stiles did just that, finding his friends at their usual eating spot. Scott and Isaac were debating pizza vs chicken wraps, and they both looked please with Stiles suggestion. What could compete with a monster style burger and crispy as chips fries?

The ladies already had a table when they arrived, and there was an extra chair that Stiles claimed by setting his hands on the back of it. "Hey," he said to the girls, and they smiled at him. "So this is Scott, my bestie, and this is Isaac, his barnacle."

"Funny, Stiles," Scott said with a roll of his eyes.

"You already know Lydia, and this is Allison," Stiles went on, smiling as everyone shook hands.

After that they ordered and sat down to wait for their food. Since Stiles already knew what Lydia and Allison were studying, and they knew his major, he sat back as they got to know his friends.

"Linguistics?" Allison asked with a smile, and Isaac nodded, looking relaxed as he leaned a bit against Scott, who had his arm over the back of Isaac's chair. "Any language in particular?"

"French," Isaac replied. "I'd like to get into work as an interpreter. But I could also teach English as a second language. I don't know. I'm keeping my options open." He shrugged, taking a drink of his soda.

"What about you?" Lydia asked Scott.

"I want to be a vet. I worked at a clinic through high school, and I loved it," Scott told her.

"You have no idea how many pictures of newborn kittens this guy sent me," Stiles added, jerking his thumb at his friend.

"You never complained," Scott said, playing at offended.

"No, how could I when I got to see those little faces?" He's always made the same high pitched sound when he got a picture too. Heaven help him when the little things had milk beards. "You know I think I still have those pictures." He dug his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his downloaded images, and there was a lot of squealing after that.

There wasn't much conversation as they ate, though Stiles had to look at Lydia and Allison. “I’m surprised neither of you have asked how things are going between me and Peter.”

“We figured that you wouldn’t want to talk about it around your friends,” Allison said sweetly.

“And Peter tells me everything. How many items did he put on that list he gave you?” Lydia said not-as-sweetly.

“Fifty,” Stiles replied in a near pout.

Both of the girls ‘aww’ed at the that. “You got the vanilla version,” Lydia said, scrunching her nose up cutely as she giggled.

Stiles put on his best affronted voice and spoke probably a bit too loud. “It had sounding on it!” That sent the girls into fits of laughter as Stiles seethed a little.

“What’s sounding?” Scott asked, and Isaac was next to him tapping away on his phone. Before Stiles could answer, Isaac’s eyes popped wide and he showed Scott the screen. Scott looked like he just watched a plane smash into a mountain. “I’m sorry I asked,” he whispered.

Lydia and Allison just continued to giggle.

* * *

Friday was boring too. Stiles went to his morning classes and actually paid attention this time. At lunch, Lydia invited him to come watch Allison practice in the gym as long as he brought food with him. He did, and she told him he was at least her fourth best friend now. They sat there and talked about their math classes and Allison flipped and twisted herself into interesting positions on the gymnastics floor.

At around four in the afternoon, Stiles’s pocked buzzed, and he pulled out his phone, thinking it was probably Scott, or maybe even Lydia or Allison, but it was Peter. 

**Your collar arrived.** the message read.

Stiles let out a surprised sound that had the person next to him glancing his way. He tried to give her a smile to reassure her that he wasn’t insane, but she didn’t seem convinced. 

**It’s absolutely lovely. I can’t wait to see it on you.** Peter went on.

God, his face—his whole body, really—was burning up. 

He barely slept that night.

* * *

Saturday morning arrived, and Stiles was the most hyper zombie ever. He was bursting with energy, but he couldn’t seem to comprehend anything, and when Scott asked him what kind of breakfast he wanted, Stiles just stared at him. It was like a full manic attack, even if he had thought he’d mostly grown out of his ADHD. Apparently not. Scott dragged him to iHop and shoved strawberry cheesecake pancakes at him so he could feel human again. 

After breakfast, Stiles was about to go back to the dorm and grab his overnight bag when Scott grabbed his arm and pulled him into a hug. “Have fun,” he said, patting between Stiles’s shoulder blades. “Call me if I need to kick Peter’s butt, okay?”

Stiles giggled into Scott’s neck, before he pushed him away. “I love you too, man.”

When he got back to the dorm, he grabbed his overnight bag, which had a change of clothes and also enough lube and condoms for a month. He was pretty sure Peter would have already covered it, but it gave him comfort to be prepared. 

Peter’s apartment building was _swanky_. Stiles didn’t know how much money was in owning kink clubs, but apparently he needed to get in on that, damn. Peter had given him the code to the parking garage, and he drove around a bit until he found the right spot. Peter had told him to park between his motorcycle and a sleek black Lexus, which also belonged to him. Stiles could tell, because it had a bumper sticker of a T-Rex eating a Jesus fish.

Stiles waltzed into the elevator and pushed the button for the top floor, tilting his head back and forth at the pleasant elevator music. By the time he reached the top floor, he was humming along. He didn’t feel nervous anymore—well, he did, but it was a good kind of nervous. It was a nice anticipation. He wasn’t going to leap on Peter the moment the door opened, but he was going to smile a lot and fuck up the English language like crazy.

Peter lived in 4J, and Stiles might have skipped down the hall. There was no one to judge him, shut up. He brushed imaginary dust off himself and shuffled back and forth in front of the door a bit, before ringing the bell. The chime echoed through the apartment, and even that sounded posh.

When the door opened, Stiles wasn’t sure what he expected, but it was not Peter in a soft looking v-neck, blue jeans and bare feet. There was something weird about seeing Peter’s toes, and they were cute toes. That was definitely a pedicure. 

“Hello, Stiles,” Peter said, leaning his hip against the doorjamb and smiling at him while Stiles lost all ability to function because _toes_. “Find the place alright?”

The first sound out of Stiles’s mouth was a chocobo’s ‘wark!’. That was embarrassing. He quickly cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes, yes, I did, thanks. You give good directions.” Well, at least he hadn’t lapsed into his broken Polish.

Peter straightened up and moved back so Stiles could go past him. “Come in.” 

Stiles did, feeling a wave of tingles through his shoulder and chest when he brushed Peter. The place was nice, as he had expected, but it was also warm and lived in. The living room furniture looked squishy, and there were all sorts of things on the walls that made it look like home. It was certainly very clean.

He stopped as he had a realization, looking over at Peter. “Should I be taking off my shoes?” he asked.

Peter, who had been just watching him, smiled. “If you like. Get comfortable.” He moved over and took Stiles’s bag. “I’ll put this in the bedroom.” As he walked off, Stiles didn’t stare at his butt. He didn’t. (He did.)

That left Stiles standing in the living room still wondering whether or not he should take his shoes off. He ended up doing so and looked around for a place to put them. He decided against the wall was a good spot, yeah. Then he got distracted by Peter’s bookcase. It was filled with books on dinosaurs. God, he was spacey. 

As he turned to go wait in the middle of the room like a good little spazoid, he stopped because there was a cat sitting right behind him, looking up at him with big round eyes, one sapphire blue and the other honey brown. This cat was also naked, its skin in blotches of different calico colors. It had a black patch over one eye, and the other eye’s surrounding skin was pink, thus the different colored eyes. It—she, all calicos are girls, he could hear Scott saying in his head—She looked like a funky little alien, like ET with bat ears, all wrinkly and stuff. But, damn, was she cute.

“Hello, kitty,” he tried, and she blinked at him. He reached down so she could sniff his hand, before he rubbed his thumb along her head. “Oh wow, you are soft,” he said, smiling as she lifted up onto her back legs to headbutt his palm. It was like she was covered in the finest coat of down. And she was purring like a motorboat. “Aren’t hairless cats supposed to be mean?”

“A common misconception,” came Peter’s voice, and Stiles looked over to find him walking over. The cat turned and started doing figure eights around his legs, rubbing the whole of her body against his calves before doing a tumble roll onto his feet. Peter gave her a fond smile before picking her up. “Sphynx cats are just as sweet as any over cat,” he said, cradling her and rubbing under her chin.

“What’s her name?” Stiles asked and he took the chance to touch the cat’s weird little worm tail. 

“Lady Godiva,” Peter replied, passing the purring cat over. “Because I am not above puns.”

Stiles just let out a giggle because that was perfect. “Who’s a cute little naked lady? You are,” he said, rubbing his cheek against the top of the overly friendly kitty. She patted as his face with her weird little bare paw, which looked like an alien hand. She was still ultra cute, if freaky. Her wrinkles were like tiny mazes.

“Careful, you’re about to make a friend for life,” Peter said with a chuckle, rubbing his thumb over one of the cat’s soft, leathery ears. 

“I may steal your cat,” Stiles said as he turned his head, and Lady Godiva lifted up to give him a smooch. “This is certainly a possibility.” 

“Hm, I will fight you,” Peter said, taking his cat back and smiling as he held her protectively. “This is my baby.” He walked across the room and set the cat on one of the levels of her six foot tower, and she immediately started to scratch at a rope wound pole.

Stiles followed by was distracted. “Are these fossils?” he asked, looking at the fireplace mantle. Belatedly, he realized this apartment had a _fireplace_. Lining the mantle were glass cases, and yeah, those were definitely fossils.

“Yes, part of my collection. The rest is in storage.” Peter moved next to Stiles. “In order of time periods, this is a trilobite.” He pointed to a nearly completely uncovered, sand-colored bug looking thing many legs and long antennae. “This is an europasaurus vertebrae. They were one of the smaller basal macronarian sauropods.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Stiles said, blinking at the fossil.

Peter didn’t seem to mind. “Think brachiosaurus, though those didn’t actually exist. Neither did the triceratops, for that matter. And most of the raptors you’ve seen were actually avian, not reptiles…” He trailed off as Stiles stared at him, smiling. “Well,” Peter said, looking back at the fossils. “Shh.”

“I didn’t say a thing,” Stiles said, smiling harder, before he pointed at the next fossil, which looked like eggs. “And what’re those?”

“Preserved pterodactyl eggs. And that’s a Utahraptor claw. And lastly part of a deinosuchus upper jaw.” Then Peter lapsed into a tangent about how difficult it was to find partial jaws with teeth still attached, and Stiles may have zoned out a bit because Peter was using technical terms.

Stiles was just watching his face as it lit up when he was talking about something he was passionate about. Peter was very handsome with high cheekbones, an angular jaw and touchable facial hair. His blue eyes were stunning too. Maybe Stiles just wanted to wrap himself in this man like a safety blanket. 

Stiles realized, probably a full five seconds after the fact, that Peter had stopped talking and was looking back at him. His eyes came back into focus, and he kind of jerked himself a little. “Sorry, I was listening, I promise,” he fibbed, unconvincingly.

Again, Peter didn’t seem to mind. “Don’t worry about it. You’re not here for me to give you a lesson in extinct creatures,” he said. “Do you have your list?”

Stiles reeled again. Oh, right. He patted his pockets, panicking for just a second before he found the folded envelope and handed it over. “It would have been hilarious if I had left it at the dorm,” he said, handing it over. “In the same way Shakespearean tragedies are hilarious.”

Peter’s lips quirked up at that, unfolding the papers and looking through them. “Come sit with me,” he said, heading to the couch, and when Stiles sat he realized he had been right; it was squishy. Peter made a little ‘oh!’ of realization, before he got up and moved around the couch and down the hall to where Stiles assumed the bedroom, bathrooms and so on were. 

Stiles glanced around, rubbing his damp palms against his knees as he chewed his lip. He looked over, and Lady Godiva was squinting at him from the top of her tower. He suppressed the childish urge to blow a raspberry at her to see what she’d do.

Peter came back with a simple white box, sitting down next to Stiles again. When he handed the box over, Stiles realized his fingers were trembling, from nerves or adrenaline or whatever, and he opened the box to find a rather unassuming collar inside. It was a length of black leather, one inch in width, with a silver clasp and ring. Stiles had been expecting spikes or chains or a tag that said ‘Property of Peter’, but this was so simple… perfect.

Stiles looked up, finding Peter watching him, and Stiles held up the box. “Put it on me?”

“Of course,” Peter said, picking it up and looping it around Stiles’s neck as Stiles tipped his head back. There was a soft hiss as Peter slipped the end of the collar through the clasp then hooked the eyelet. “Too tight?” he asked, hooking three fingers under the collar.

“No,” Stiles said, barely managing not to shudder.

Peter smiled then jerked him forward with his grip on the collar, taking the back of his head with his other hand and pressing their lips together. Stiles moaned hard as he was pretty much tugged into Peter’s lap, grabbing onto his shirt and leaning into him as he opened his mouth to the kiss. Peter took over the space, rolling their tongues together, swiping over his teeth and teasing the roof of his mouth. Stiles couldn’t help his shudder then.

When Peter moved back, Stiles’s cheek were burning, and he probably looked totally debauched with his partially open, panting mouth, swollen lips and half lidded eyes. He couldn’t really help it. Peter was one hell of a kisser.

Peter swept his fingers over his neck, tracing the length of his collar with the tips of his fingers, smiling. “It looks good on you. I like it.” Stiles swallowed as Peter’s fingers touch his Adam’s apple. He drew back, picking up the list again as Stiles swayed just a tad.

“To answer your questions,” Peter said, pulling Stiles back into reality. “I do own leather cuffs, but not five pairs, just two, one for wrists and one for ankles. They’ve lasted me a while now. Someday I might ask you about your dad arresting you, but not right now.” He went to the next page, scanning it, before he went to the one after that. “Not everyone likes sensation play with ice. We can try it sometime to see how you react.” 

“Okay,” Stiles breathed out, licking his lips. 

Peter smiled then, looking at Stiles. “Would you want to wear lingerie for me?”

And there goes the blushing. “I think so, yeah.” 

“We’ll have to figure out a time for that. Later.” Peter continued down the list. “Same with phone sex.” He let out a sudden chuckle, staring at the papers. “I had a feeling sounding might startle you.”

“Startle’s one word for it,” Stiles admitted with a huff. “You scared me and my friends.”

Peter just continued to smile, before he put all the pages of the list in order and lifted his blue eyes to Stiles. “Now that I have read your list, I have an idea on how we should proceed, for today at least.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, managing not to climb into Peter’s lap and grab his face to demand what he was thinking. Peter had this leisurely way about him, which was new to Stiles, because he was so hyperactive.

“Firstly, I want to see if you can take me into your throat,” he said, and Stiles burned from the tips of his ears to his toes. “We’ll go slowly as you need, of course.” The bastard was _smiling_. “Then I want to work you open and see what kind of noises I can pull out of you. I might fuck you then, if you’re good.”

Stiles let out a shaky breath, nodding. He wasn’t sure what he was nodding at, but it seemed like the right thing to do. He just wanted to do whatever and fast. He wanted to be good.

Peter just smiled further, showing teeth, before he took Stiles’s hand and led him around the couch and into the hallway. The last door on the left was the master bedroom, which had the biggest freaking bed he had ever seen. It should have come with its own sound effect of greatness. ‘Waaaaah!’ Maybe he was too immature to be about to have really kinky sex, but too late to think about that now.

He turned after at least thirty seconds of staring and smiled at Peter, who was watching him with a hunger in his eyes. Stiles felt wanted, desired, almost like a gazelle being stalked by a cheetah. He bit his lip as Peter moved over and lifted his shirt over his head, loving the feel of being exposed as Peter ran his eyes over his skin. 

This was unusual for him too, because the times he had gotten naked with other people he had always tried to cover up his skinny, pale body. He had some muscle, of course, and filled out some from high school, but he was still gangly. He had always been worried that he wouldn’t look good, but Peter was staring at him like he was all he ever wanted. That made Stiles’s skin raise with gooseflesh. It was a good feeling.

Peter ran his hands up Stiles’s arms, a hot, solid weight on his skin. He shivered, letting his head drop back as Peter’s fingers dug into the meat of his shoulders, massaging lightly. “Feeling relaxed?” Peter asked, and Stiles mumbled some sort of affirmative. “Good.” He ran his hands down Stiles front to his pants, which he undid and pushed down.

Of course Stiles’s dick had to spring out at Peter again. It was just as excited about what was happening.

Taking Stiles’s elbows, Peter walked him back toward the bed then lifted him up in a surprise show of strength to lay him down on it. Stiles could do little more than splay out, eyes a little wide, and sink into the mattress. “Whoa,” Stiles said, staring up as he felt his socks being removed. “This is the softest bed I have ever been on. It’s like a marshmallow. I want it.”

“Are you making a little list of my things that you were going to steal?” Peter said, leaning over him and smiling.

“Yes, first your cat then your bed." Stiles smiled as Peter 'harrumph'ed at him.

"I see," Peter said, straightening up and grabbing the hem of his shirt. "I'll have to keep my eye on you." Then he pulled his shirt off.

Whatever comeback Stiles had died in his throat. Peter had scars along his right shoulder, over part of his chest, down his ribs and even more the disappeared into pants. They looked like burn scars. Peter didn't mind his silence as he undid his belt and pants then pushed them down. The scars went over his hip and stopped in jagged lines over the top of his thigh.

Stilea didn't ask because he didn't want ruin the moment.

So instead he looked at Peter's dick. It was uncut, as Stiles had come to imagine it would be, and it hung heavy between his legs. Stiles couldn't help but lick his lips, wanting to get his mouth on it ASAP. He shifted on the bed as Peter climbed up next to him, moving so he was in the middle of the bed and Stiles was face to face with his dick.

“Soooo,” Stiles began as he rolled toward Peter and got between his legs, so close he could smell that musky scent all crotches had. It was heady and made Stiles want to bury his nose into Peter’s pubes. “Cock worship was on my list as a thing I wanted to do.” He started to reach toward that cock, slow and unsure.

Peter caught his hand and put it right on his dick. “I noticed. Feel free.”

Stiles wrapped his hand around Peter’s dick, which still wasn’t fully erect but seemed to be getting there. Like the rising of a fucking _titan._ He wasn’t sure if Peter’s dick looked huge because it actually was or if it was because it was three inches from his face. Probably a mixture of both. He slowly drew that foreskin down, exposing the deeper red head of his dick.

“You have a very intense look of concentration on your face,” Peter marked lightly.

Stiles had totally been staring. His cheeks flushed a bit. “I was remembering this paper I did about the history of the male circumcision in high school.” He paused, coloring a bit deeper. “For my economics class.” It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The corners of Peter’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “So I learned all the scientific names for the parts of a penis. Like urinary meatus, glans, and corona.” He ran his thumb along the underside of the head where it met the shaft and the foreskin bundled. “Frenulum.” 

Stiles leaned in and pressed the flat of his tongue against that frenulum, delighting in the soft sigh Peter let out at the contact. He was glad Peter wasn’t put off by his total dorkiness, but then Peter was a dork too, so. Yay, dorks getting it on.

He shifted again so he could suck at the lowest point of Peter’s cock, right where it met his balls. He just closed his eyes and let his mouth do what it liked, sliding and mouthing and sucking. This was a good cock to worship. He tongued the slit in the head before tugging at the foreskin with his lips, smiling a little at each tiny sound Peter made. He was lapping at him like Peter’s dick was a slowly melting ice cream pop. He was certainly just as tasty.

He mouthed his way up the side of Peter’s cock, wrapping his hand around the base as he suckled at the head. A pearl of precome exploded across his tongue, and he moaned at the sharp taste. A hand touched his cheek, and he opened his eyes, tilting them up to gaze at Peter’s face.

“Look at you,” Peter said softly, and Stiles slid his swollen mouth off of his dick to turn his face up. “You are gorgeous.” He ran his fingers through Stiles’s bangs. “Such a good boy.”

Stiles shivered, pulling his bottom lip through his teeth as he swelled with the praise. 

Peter shifted, moving up onto his knees and grabbing a couple pillows. “Lift up for me,” he said, and Stiles did, even though the mattress was trying to eat him. Peter got the pillows underneath his shoulders and adjusted him so he head was hanging at an angle. “Comfortable?” he asked, and Stiles let out a little ‘mmhm’. “Good.”

Stiles watched as Peter positioned himself over his head, he dick bobbing over his chin. “Now, you won’t be able to say your safeword in this position, so—give me your hand.” Stiles did, and Peter laid it over his own thigh, well under his scars. “Slap my thigh if you choke or want me to pull back for any reason.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, shifting a bit and stretching out his throat. He could do this. Facefucking was a go! He stuck out his tongue and poked Peter’s balls because they were there. He smiled when Peter chuckled.

Peter took his dick in hand and pressed the head against Stiles’s lips, and Stiles’s mouth opened up wide immediately, a little moan leaving it. He hadn’t really done any sort of deepthroating before. He’d given blowjobs, but they had been wet and messy and fast, and none of them had included the cock in his throat. 

“Breathe deeply through your nose,” Peter said, and Stiles did, the dick in his mouth sinking deeper before backing off a couple inches. “Stay relaxed.” Peter’s fingers trailed over his lower jaw and neck, an almost ticklish sensation that made him suck in a harsh breath through his nose. 

Peter started up a rhythm, and Stiles did his best to just relax his throat and breathe as normally as he could. He managed to figure out his own rhythm, which was to take a deep breath as Peter pulled back. That worked for a little while until he realized that Peter wasn’t actually going into his throat yet. He was just working him up to it so far, which had to have been two minutes of shallow thrusting. Stiles reached up with his extra hand and grabbed the back of Peter’s other thigh, trying to pull him forward more.

There was a dry chuckle as Peter set his hand over Stiles’s and pressed forward more, just hitting the back of Stiles’s mouth before pulling back. Each time Peter moved forward, Stiles stretched his throat out, trying to get him to just bottom out already, but Peter wasn’t having it. Stiles moaned around him, shifting his legs around a bit to try and reposition himself, hopeful.

“Patience,” Peter said in a near purr, wrapping one hand lightly around Stiles’s neck. 

Then, _finally_ , Peter pushed forward and Stiles felt the tip of his dick breach his throat. He drew back almost immediately afterward, and Stiles could only think ‘that was no big deal!’ Famous last words. Peter started thrusting again, moving steadily and pressing further each time. The moment Stiles missed a breath in his eagerness was the moment his whole body seized.

Stiles smacked the side of Peter’s thigh, feeling like he was _dying_. Peter drew back, not too fast, but enough so Stiles could roll on his side and cough hard and loud into his hands. He dragged in shaky breaths, eyes watering a little as he tried to control the spasms of his diaphragm. He could feel Peter’s hands on his back, a soothing touch he’d appreciate more when he didn’t feel like he’d almost drowned.

“Perhaps we should do something else,” Peter suggested in a calm voice. “You did very well though.”

“No!” Stiles forced out, swallowing a couple times before coughing again. “I want—” He gagged on some more coughing. “I want to do it!” After some more hacking, he rolled back into position, stuffing the pillows back under his shoulders again. “Please,” he said, starting around Peter’s dick to his face. It would have been a funny view if he weren’t so determined to get that dick down his throat.

Peter got back into place too, and once Stiles took a deep breath and released it, he pressed his cock into his mouth again. Stiles focused on his breathing, creating a mantra in his head. Breathe in, thrust in, pull out, breathe out, breathe in, and so on. 

Stiles wasn’t sure when this started doing it for him, but with each thrust, he could feel a hot wave go down his body and crest over his dick. He felt it slipping a little over stomach, twitching and hard. Maybe it was the soft sounds Peter was making, the little ‘ah, ah’s, or maybe it was that he was claiming completely virgin territory. Stiles wasn’t sure, but now that he had got his breathing down he started to moan with each exhale. He wanted Peter to come down his throat, wanted to swallow him down.

“I’m close,” Peter said how ever much longer later, he wasn’t sure. He gripped his thighs hard and groaned around him, pleading. Peter made a low noise in his chest and stilled, pressed in as far as he could go, and Stiles could only swallow as come shot down his throat. Then Peter was pulling back, so Stiles gave the head of his dick a sloppy kiss, making him chuckle.

“Cheeky,” Peter told him, shifting around so he could knock the pillows away and pull a very pliant Stiles to his chest, almost cradling him. “You did excellently.” He leaned in and pressed their lips together. “I don’t think I’ve had a sub quite so tenacious as you.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Stiles asked, and damn did his voice sound _wrecked_.

“Definitely good,” Peter said, looking down Stiles’s body. “And you got hard and stayed that way. Commendable.” He took Stiles dick in hand and gave it a firm stroke, making pleasure explode through his body as he jerked in surprise. “Not going to take long for you, is it?” he asked, smiling as Stiles whined. “My beautiful Stiles, so eager.”

It didn’t take long for Stiles at all. He was all sorts of keyed up, and Peter’s grip was so tight and firm that it had Stiles squirming and whining in no time. And then Peter started to whisper into his ear. “I can’t wait to finger your pretty ass,” he was saying, his breath hot and a little damp. “Work you up to three fingers, maybe four.” Stiles whined, hips jerking. “Then I’m going to fuck you until you beg me to let you come.” 

That did it. Stiles didn’t even think about censoring himself. He flung his head back and cried out as his hips jerked into Peter’s hand and he shot all over his own stomach and—oh, yeah, that definitely hit the underside of his chin. He’d giggle about that later when he wasn’t shivering with aftershocks and curling against Peter’s front.

Peter peppered his face with kisses. “You are wonderful,” he murmured, and Stiles wanted to just melt in joy.

Then Lady Godiva hopped up on the bed and came to investigate, which had Stiles giggling like a maniac, because her nose was so very cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale) for the read!
> 
> Remember when I said I wasn't going to do anymore text conversations? I lied.
> 
> Peter's [bumper sticker](http://nerdapproved.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/t-rex-fish.jpg), [trilobite](http://www.paleoart.com/static/trilobite_classification/russian_ordovician_trilobite-Boedaspis_ensifer.htm) and [cat.](http://blog.evercats.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/2-eyes.jpg)
> 
> Next update by **8/17/14**.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles spend the night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> At first I thought this was going to be the shortest chapter, but it ended up being the longest to date! 
> 
> A little bit of an early update for you lovely people.

Peter insisted on cleaning Stiles up himself, and Stiles didn’t really mind since he was to splay out and pet the cat as Peter ran a warm wash cloth along his stomach, his inner thighs and thoroughly over his dick. He had to bite his lip, because he was still young enough to be on a hair trigger when it came to his refractory period. But then Peter announced he was going to make dinner and moved away. So they put on their pants and went to the kitchen, the cat toddling along after them because she had nothing else to do.

Stiles was feeling particularly clingy while Peter started setting up to cook. He wanted to press up against his back and bury his face in his neck. He didn’t, obviously. He kept his distance, though he did send longing looks Peter’s way the whole time he was setting a cream sauce for the tortellini pasta. Then, without looking like the master he was, Peter reached out and hooked a finger in Stiles’s collar, pulling him closer so he could wrap his arm around Stiles’s shoulders.

With a shivery sigh, Stiles tucked himself into Peter’s side and leaned his cheek against his shoulder. He liked this extending of intimacy. He didn’t quite understand his body’s need for it, but maybe it was a sub thing. Or maybe it was a him thing. Everyone was different. He didn’t care, because he was happy. 

The scars felt… different against his skin, and he couldn’t help but lift a hand to taste the line between the raised burns and the healthy skin. He rubbed his cheek against the scars on Peter's shoulder, sighing softly.

“Do they bother you?” came Peter’s surprising soft voice, the only other sounds being the bubbling of the sauce and the boiling water with the pasta.

Stiles opened his eyes, finding Peter looking at him with a closed off expression. “No,” he said, clearly and honestly, and Peter relaxed just a tad, the tension leaving the should Stiles was leaning against. “They surprised me, but they don’t bother me.” He flattened his hand over Peter’s right pec, his hand half on scar tissue and half on smooth skin. “Can I ask how you got them?”

“You can ask me anything,” Peter said, stirring the cream sauce before scooping a bit off it onto the wooden spoon. “But it is a long story with an unhappy ending, and I do not like telling it.” He blew on the spoon before offering Stiles a taste.

Stiles wasn’t surprised Peter didn’t want to share. Getting burned over so much of his body must have been terribly traumatic. So instead of saying anything, he leaned in to taste that sauce, and _whoa_! That was yummy. He smacked his lips, licking them. “Shit, that’s good,” he said, and Peter chuckled. "I should've known you'd be a good cook."

"You're sweet," Peter said, pulling away so he could strain the pasta. Stiles could see the soft smile curving his lips.

"Do you always make such nice food?" Stiles asked, sticking close enough, but not so close that Peter would knock him with his elbow or anything.

"It depends on my mood," Peter said as he turned off the burner for the sauce. "Somedays I make beef Wellington. Somedays I make meatloaf. Other days I eat cereal directly out of the box while in my pajamas." He shrugged.

"Do you ever veg with take out?" Stiles asked, watching as Peter divvied up the food. He realized too late that he could have helped.

"Rarely. I like to do everything myself." Peter nodded toward the dining area, and Stiles followed after him. He set the plates down and headed back into the kitchen.

"I can see that," Stiles remarked as he sat down.

"I have wine, beer, milk and water," came Peter's voice.

It took a second for Stiles to remember he was old enough to drink alcohol. "Uh, wine, please." He didn't want to drink beer with such a nice meal. He'd had a sip of wine once in his life and he had hated it. Hopefully he would be able to enjoy this one.

Peter came in holding two glasses of white wine and a basket of bread. Who owned bread baskets? Seriously. That was so weird. It was also weird that he was being served by his dom. Should he have waited to sit? Peter didn't seem to mind as he sat down.

Stiles grabbed his wine glass, hoping alcohol would calm his mind. He was prepared for it to be disgusting, but after he sipped it he made a pleased noise and looked at his glass. He had expected it to be dry and painful to choke down, but it was sweet and tasty.

"Not a wine drinker, are you?" Peter asked, smiling at Stiles over the rim of his glass.

"I might be now. What is this?" Stiles sniffed the wine. It was fruity.

"Californian Riesling." Peter a drink of his own wine, humming in a pleased way. "It's a good wine to have with a cream sauce. If you're interested in drinking wine, I would suggest Moscato. It's a sweet beginner's wine."

"Noted," Stiles said with a nod, even as he failed to imagine himself going wine shopping. He didn't think wine and ramen or wine and pizza would work well together. "I just realized I don't have any wine glasses. I'm pretty sure it's sacrilege to drink wine out of a solo cup."

Peter let out a snorting laugh right in the middle of taking a drink, and Stiles nearly did a fist pump into the air, because his face was priceless. Peter coughed softly, before regaining his composure. "I would have to agree."

After that Stiles just talked about whatever came to his head. He ended up telling Peter about his high school years, about Scott and playing lacrosse. He had never had any delusions about becoming a great sports star, and it wasn't like he ever got to play in an actual game, just practice and scrimmages.

"Too bad bench warming isn't a profession. I would be great at that." Stiles shoved another piece of delicious pasta in his mouth before grabbing a slice of bread to mop up the excess sauce with.

"What high school did you go too?" Peter asked lightly.

"Beacon Hills high," he replied, thinking Peter probably didn't know where that was since it was a pretty small area and three hours away from where they were. But Peter straightened up, looking surprised. "Heard of it?"

"I was born and raised in Beacon Hills," Peter said with a smile, and it was Stiles's turn to be surprised. "I lived there for quite a long time. I have two nieces and a nephew that still live there. My daughter went to Beacon Hills high school."

"You have a daughter?" Stiles breathed out, nearly uncomprehending.

"Yes. Her name is Malia, and she's your age, so you would have been in the same grade. She was a band geek though, so you may never have met." Peter smiled at him. "Why is that so shocking?"

Stiles doesn't have a good answer for that. "It's just... Did something happen to her mother?" What if those burns...

"Oh, no, nothing like you're thinking." Peter waved his fork nonchalantly. " Sofie and I were best friends growing up. We thought it made sense to get married and have a kid. We were idiots. We lasted for a while—three years—before we just admitted to each other that what we had wasn't what we wanted, so we got divorced. We shared custody of Malia until she was eighteen and left to join a band. They're quite good."

"Wow," Stiles said, blinking. "What's the band called?"

"Halestorm," Peter said with a bit of a grin. "She's on tour in Europe right now."

"Double wow," Stiles said, making a mental note to look them up.

He still could hardly believe that Peter was old enough to have a family and a kid that wasn't a kid anymore but 21 just like Stiles was. Didn't that make him feel weird? It must have not, because Peter wasn't radiating with any sort of tension or awkwardness. He was just exuding contentment after the meal and two glasses of wine they’re both had. 

Stiles just felt warm and a little weighted, but not so much that he’d pass out if he hit a soft surface. He probably just stretch out like a big, lazy cat. He went back to talking about high school, recalling a story that Peter might like. Once in Biology, they had been talking about evolution, and one of the students had been insistent that evolution was fake and creationism was the way to go. Peter rolled his eyes so hard that he could probably see the back of his skull.

“I mean, believe in what you want, right?” Stiles said, feeling definitely tipsy now, and he was talking with wide arm motions. “But religion is about faith, and science is true whether you believe it or not.”

Peter had his chin braced on his laced fingers, his elbows on the table and a soft smile on his face. “Exactly.”

Stiles flapped a hand then took another drink of his wine. “Mm, I think I need to be cut off.”

Chuckling, Peter took the glass away from Stiles and drained it himself, before he stood up. “Why don’t you go sit down on the couch. I’ll clear the table.” He stacked the plates and set the basket on them.

“I can help,” Stiles said, rising. 

“I’ve got it,” Peter replied, easily gathering both wine glasses with one hand and heading into the kitchen. 

Well, alright. Stiles went into the living area and plopped down on the couch. Lady Godiva hopped up next to him and started to knead at his pants with her funny little alien paws. He rubbed his thumb the on the top of her head, and she purred breathily in response. 

“I’m going to steal you away and keep you under my bed at the dorm,” he murmured to her, and she just huffed in response and climbed into his lap, stretching across it and nosing his hipbone with her cold, wet nose. “Hey, quit it,” he said with a squirm and a chuckle.

“She likes you,” Peter said as he came into the room and sat down on the couch next to them. He ran his hand down the cat’s back, and she yawned widely, purring even louder.

“I’m likeable,” Stiles said with a cheeky smile.

“You are,” Peter replied without hesitation. “So.” He placed his hand on Stiles’s knee. “I just need to make a couple calls, check on the clubs and such, then I’m all yours.”

Stiles pulled his bottom lip through his teeth. “Don’t you mean I’m all _yours_?” he asked with added eyebrow waggling.

Peter snorted, leaning in and giving him an all too short fierce kiss, before he stood up. He picked up something off the coffee table and handed it over. “This will keep you both entertained.”

It was a laser pointer. As Peter walked off, Stiles shone the laser light at the wall, and Lady Godiva took off so fast that she dug her back claws into his leg momentarily. Ow. He quickly forgot about it though as he made the cat dash back and forth across the floor. He almost doubled over with giggles when he made her zip in a circle so fast that she staggered and fell down. 

Stiles was definitely amused as he made the cat dash into the kitchen and take such a sharp turn that she slipped and skidded back on the hardwood before running in place for a second like Scooby Doo. Then he ran the laser light up the wall, and she bounced up after it, jumping a good four feet easy.

“I officially want a cat,” he said, giggling so hard he was having difficulty breathing. “C’mere, you.” He set the laser pointer back and clicked his tongue at her a couple times. She trotted over, and he picked her up, before he patted his back pocket for his phone. He was glad it hadn’t fallen out when Peter undressed him. “Say ‘I’m adorable!’” he said, holding her up close to his face so he could snap a selfie with her. 

Then he sent the picture to pretty much everyone he knew with **New bestie, you jelly?**

Scott answered immediately with **what is that?** then **is that a cat?**

Stiles huffed, kissing Lady Godiva’s head before setting her down then dropping onto the couch. **She’s Peter’s cat, and she’s lovely. You’d adore her.**

 **Weirdo.** Scott replied, and Stiles rolled his eyes. He’d change his tune when he found a different Sphynx and brought it back to the dorm to love and cuddle all day long.

Isaac didn’t respond, as Stiles figured he wouldn’t. 

Allison sent him a **Aw! <3**

Lydia was more vocal. **Lady Godiva! She’s the sweetest thing. What are you up to, Stiles? I figured we wouldn’t hear from you all day because Peter would keep you busy, if you know what I mean. ;)**

 **I know what you mean. Peter does the winky face when he’s insinuating too, you know.** Stiles smiled as he patted the cat’s head.

**I know. I think I absorbed the behavior from him. Stop dodging my insinuations.**

Stiles snorted. **We were plenty busy when I came over. Then he made me an awesome dinner. He calling his clubs right now to make sure nothing is exploding without him, and after that we'll get busy again. ;)**

 **I see what you did there.** was Lydia's response. **Peter is a bit of a control freak when it comes to the clubs. I'm jealous that he made you dinner. He's a great cook.**

Stiles was starting to think Peter was a control freak about a lot of things, not just the clubs. When he heard Peter coming down the hall, he sent off a quick **TTYL** to Lydia and pocketed his phone. "Everything good?" he asked Peter as he rounded the couch.

"Everything is fine," Peter said, not sitting down but instead holding his hand out for Stiles. "Now, I think I promised I would take you apart, didn't I?"

Stiles set his hand in Peter's. "You did." He stood up, feeling anxious and excited now. Even his dick twitched in his pants at the prospect of Peter pulling him to pieces with those clever hands of his.

He followed Peter back to the bedroom, watching as he closed the door, probably to discourage Lady Godiva, and then breathed out a shaky sigh as he was backed toward the bed. He stepped out of his pants when Peter pushed them down, before he splayed out on the bed when he was instructed so. Then Peter was running his hands up his inner thighs, looking very much like he liked what he saw.

Peter looked like he wanted to eat him.

Stiles's dick twitched when Peter's hands glided up over his hips, thumbs grazing his stomach, and he couldn't help the squirm when fingers trailed over his ticklish sides. Thankfully Peter didn't touch his armpits, or else he would have had Stiles laughing like a hyena. 

"You are beautiful," Peter eventually said after he'd run his hands all over Stiles's body. "Especially in nothing but this." He looped a finger under collar around Stiles's neck and gave it a tug.

Stiles let out a desperate little noise, putting his head back to expose the long line of his throat. 

Peter leaned in and kissed him right under the jaw, mouthing his way up until their lips met. Stiles could do little more than open his mouth before Peter claimed the space for his own, his tongue taking stock of it by counting his teeth and sweeping over the roof. Stiles was making tragic sounds, he knew it, but he didn't care as their tongues rolled together.

Then Peter moved down, his lips hot on Stiles skin as he left light little kisses in a line down his throat. He nuzzled the collar a second before continuing his way down. When he reached Stiles's nipples, Stiles had to arch up into the contact with a gasp. 

"Please," Stiles breathed out.

Peter looked up at his face, before he dragged his teeth lightly along one pink nipple, causing Stiles to gasp as the skin pebbled and the nip hardened. Peter lifted up between Stiles's wide spread legs, thumbing at both of his nipples. "I seem to remember that I wanted to clamp these lovely nipples," he said, rolling the tips round and round. He looked at Stiles's face again. "Safeword?"

Stiles dragged in a harsh breath. "Green for good. Yellow for pause and discuss. Red for stop."

"Good boy," Peter said, pinching those nipples and making Stiles keen, before he slid off the bed. "I'll be right back." 

Stiles guessed, as he watched Peter leave the room, that someone like him would keep his BSDM... _things_ in a separate room. Stiles squirmed a bit as he waited, wondering if he could right himself on the bed or if this was how Peter wanted him. He ended up staying put, pretty sure he'd be given instruction if Peter wanted him to move.

When Peter came back, he was swinging a thin chain around his finger. As he got close enough, Stiles could see the clamps at each end of the chain. He got up onto the bed, kneeling between Stiles's spread ones, before he started to rub his nipples into hardness again.

The first clamp was a bit of a shock, and he jolted at the minute sharp pain that melted into a gentle, pleasant throb. The second clamp just felt good because he knew what to expect and had opened his body up to the sensation. He groaned as Peter plucked the chain once like a guitar string.

"Beautiful," Peter said again with a pleased smile.

Peter moved off the bed again, opening his nightstand drawer and pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. He dropped the latter on the covers, slicking up his fingers with the lube. Stiles had a moment to recognize the brand as the same one in the club, before Peter caught the underside of his knee and pushed his leg up so that his thigh nearly touched his chest.

While he kept those sharp blue eyes locked on Stiles's face, Peter ran a slick finger around his hole, and Stiles could feel himself clench and release around nothing. He offered no resistance as Peter pressed a finger inside of him, slow and easy. He groaned with it, clasping at it as it curled and rubbed at his inner walls until it swiped over his prostate.

"Ah, fuck," Stiles said, arching and making the chain on his chest crawl along his skin as it obeyed gravity. He gasped the bedspread above his head, closing his eyes and tossing his head back.

Peter let out a little hum, before he sank another finger inside of Stiles, causing him to whine. "Look at you," he murmured, and Stiles cracked an eye open to look at him, finding his gaze absolutely ravenous. "I should have you naked but for your collar whenever you're here. I could keep your pretty ass lubed so I could fuck you with my fingers on a moment's notice."

Stiles made some kind of sound like he was dying, unaware that he had wanted that until right that moment. "Yes," he cried, his hips pumping up of their own volition. "Please."

"Like that idea, do you?" Peter purred, twisting his hand and hooking his fingers on Stiles's hole so he could pull it open wide and add another finger. Then he started to thrust them in and out, grazing over that spot with each one.

God, Stiles felt full, his hole stretched wide. It burned, but it was a good burn, and he could only writhe as his dick twitched and pleasure rolled up his spine and down his thighs. “Fuck, I’m—ahh,” he moaned, pretty much beyond coherency. He was lucky he could warn Peter at all.

“Go ahead,” Peter said, smiling, and it was all Stiles could do not to buck off the bed when he felt fingers rake across his prostate.

He painted his stomach with come, twitching with the aftershocks and the way Peter was still stroking him inside. He made little noises of pleasure bordering on pain, feeling sensitive now. Little curses fell from his lips, but he didn’t try to get away as Peter’s fingers worked him through his orgasm.

“Absolutely lovely,” Peter said from above him, and Stiles peeked at him. “How many orgasms do you think I could work out of you tonight? Two? Three? Or dare we go for four?” 

"I don't..." Stiles tried to say as his cock twitched in an interested fashion. He was young, so sue him.

"What is your record?" Peter asked, taking hold of Stiles's softened dick and starting to stroke it back to hardness. "Surely someone as sexually adventurous as you must have counted how many times you can come in an hour."

Stiles mewled tragically. "Three." He swallowed. "My record for a whole day is seventeen." He'd been home alone with a head cold and had been very, very bored.

Peter grinned at him, and it was an evil look. "That so?" he asked, and Stiles nodded hesitantly, before he gasped as Peter worked his pinky inside of him. "I hope you know you have doomed yourself to an orgasm marathon." When Stiles went wide eyed, Peter laughed. "Not tonight. On a new day." He hummed in approval as Stiles's jumped, proving his interest.

Spreading his fingers inside of Stiles, Peter continued to smile. "Tonight I think I'll go easy on you. I did say I'd fuck you if you were good, and you have been so good for me." He leaned down, the hardness of his own dick pressing against Stiles's thigh, and pressed their lips together. "My good Stiles."

Stiles couldn't help the shiver that shook him, and he moaned as Peter sat back and removed his fingers from his hole. He felt so empty all of the sudden as he watched Peter grab the condom packet and rip it open before divesting himself of his pants and rolling the condom onto his hard dick.

"Next time," Peter began as he hoisted Stiles further onto the bed by a grip on his hips, before setting in the middle. "I'm going to eat your ass until you're screaming for more." He grabbed a couple pillows and stuffed them under Stiles's hips to get a better angle while Stiles shuddered at the promise. "I'm going to consume you, leave nothing but the parts of you that make you feel free." He ran his hands over Stiles"s wide spread thighs. "Color?"

"Green," Stiles moaned immediately. "So very green," he babbled as Peter took hold of his own dick and got into position. "Like vibrant green. Christmas green—ah!" He tossed his head back as Peter pressed inside him, a hot hardness that fingers could only pretend to be. It didn't hurt at all, not after the stretching Peter had made him suffer through. He was as relaxed as could be.

"Look at me," Peter breathed above him, and Stiles did, unaware that he'd closed his eyes. Peter held his gaze as he grabbed Stiles's wrists and gathered them together above his head, holding them there with a single hand. "Keep looking." Peter used his other hand to take hold of Stiles's dick, which was hard and leaking now. Then he began to move.

_Oh._

Stiles's eyelids fluttered as Peter rolled his hips, his dick dragging across all the good places inside him. It was all he could do to try to meet him, disadvantaged given the arch of his back and the way his hips were positioned. It was like Peter wanted him to just _take it_ /. And what a lovely thing to take. Stiles was pretty sure that this level of prostate stimulation was scientific. There had to be a method.

To say that Stiles was embarrassed at how fast he got off would be to claim he was capable of higher brain function. He arched with a cry as his orgasm crashed down on him like a meteorite slamming into the Earth. Peter stilled with a grunt while still inside him, and Stiles's muscles twitched and clenched around him. Stiles probably saw dots, or maybe his brain was overheated with pleasure and the blood vessels in his eyes were exploding. One of those.

Before the come was even cool on his stomach, Stiles watched Peter lean up, releasing his hands and getting both hands on his hips. He lifted up onto his knees, making Stiles's back arch and some of his weight go on his shoulders, and then he really began to fuck him.

Stiles let out a shout as Peter moved fast and hard, hammering against his prostate with every move. He tried to keep his eyes open, to focus on Peter's face, his parted lips and the soft sounds that were leaving them, but he could barely keep his eyes from rolling back into his head. The little sounds Peter was making, breathy moans and pants, were nothing compared to Stiles's loud cries, but he loved that he could hear them.

"Can you come for me again, Stiles?" Peter asked, voice low and husky, and all Stiles could really do was moan in response. "I'm not going to stop until you do." He nailed Stiles's prostate as punctuation.

Stiles whined, feeling so sensitive and fucked out already. But his dick was trying its hardest, pulsing in time with the happy throb of his ass. Peter's hand was damp with sweat, come and lube and oh so tight on his dick. He could feel it building in him, like molten rock bubbling inside a volcano, the pressure growing and growing until finally it was too much and he burst open and sprayed lava everywhere.

Actually it was a nearly dry orgasm, but the analogy stood.

Through his haziness, he heard Peter let out a low moan, felt his hips stutter against him, before Peter lowered him down and gently withdrew. He took hold of the clamps and released Stiles's abused nipples, setting them on the nightstand. He pressed a smiling kiss to each throbbing nub, and Stiles could only whine a little at how sensitive they were. He helped Stiles get into a comfortable position, moving the pillows out of the way, before getting off the bed. Stiles wasn't sure where he went, because he was practically dozing, but he came back around when he felt a warm washcloth wiping at his stomach. He stretched out with a squeak of a noise, letting out a laugh as that cloth thoroughly cleaned his dick and wiped away any excess lube from the crack of his ass.

Then Peter was maneuvering him so he was under the covers and the right way on the bed. Stiles watched as Peter opened the door to the room then shut off the light. Stiles happily allowed himself to be gathered in Peter's arms when he came to bed, pressing his face into Peter's neck and sighing happily. The last thing he was aware of before he was asleep was Peter's lips in his hair.

* * *

Stiles had never been the type to sleep in. His brain just didn't allow it most days. The only time he slept past nine in the morning was when he'd only gone to sleep at six after studying all night. So when he opened his eyes, he wasn't surprised to find Peter still snoozing away next to him, snoring ever so softly. He was so handsome in the dim lighting filtering in through the curtains.

He nuzzled against Peter's left shoulder, before he tried to lean up and kiss his cheek. He didn't manage it because there was something just above his head, blocking his way. He looked and found Lady Godiva curled up on his pillow, looking like a naked calico ball because she was faced away from him. With a smile, he headbutted her, and her head popped up with a quizzical noise like "reh?"

Stiles tried to shift to he could pet her without waking Peter, but he failed, because the man blinked open his eyes and cast them around blearily for a second. "Sorry," Stiles said softly. "I was trying not to disturb you.”

With a grunt, Peter stretched his arms up, elbowing the cat and getting grunted at for his efforts. Then he turned and enveloped Stiles in his arms again, burying his face in his neck. Stiles smiled against his hair, nuzzling. 

“What time is it?” Peter asked eventually, his voice muffled.

Stiles twisted his head around to look. “Just after eight.”

“Gross,” Peter complained, and Stiles chuckled. Finally Peter shifted onto his back so he could look up at the ceiling. “Well, I guess if you insist on being an early bird, I should make you breakfast.”

“You don’t have to,” Stiles said, before he made a caught off noise as Lady Godiva walked over them, determined to be the center of attention in the most passive aggressive manner possible. He smiled when Peter grabbed her and cradled her on his chest.

“It’s fine,” Peter said and he rubbed the cat’s head. “Might as well get up. This one wouldn’t let us go back to sleep anyway.” He picked the cat up with his hands under her front legs, stretching his arms out so she was lifted up off his chest. “You see, this one is spoiled rotten. Aren’t you, Lady Godiva?”

The cat just yawned in response. 

They rolled out of bed, and Stiles asked if he could use the shower. Peter just waved him toward it dismissively as he walked out in just a pair of sweats and the cat in his arms. Peter’s bathroom was about as lavish as he’d expected, and the water pressure made him want to fall asleep while leaning against the wall.

When he got out, he could smell sugar and cinnamon wafting on the air. He got dressed and packed his bag again, following his nose to the living room, where he dropped his bag on the couch and going into the kitchen. “That’s smells awesome,” he said, leaning against the island and watching as Peter divided what he had on a skillet to two plates.

“I hope you like French toast,” Peter said as he walked the plates into the dining room. 

Stiles toddled after a little helplessly. “Careful. If you keep cooking for me, I’m going to want to move in with you.” What? Shit! He didn’t mean that.

Peter smiled like he took it as the joke it was though, so crisis averted. “I’m having tea. I also bought orange juice in case that’s your preference.” 

Stiles was not melting. He wasn’t. He smiled. “Orange juice is great.” 

A minute later, Stiles found out that Peter used a tea infuser ball, so he was one of _those_ tea drinkers. On the other hand, his French toast was absolutely heavenly, and Stiles was pretty sure Peter was going to make him fat if he kept feeding him like this. He didn’t care at all.

After breakfast, Peter was walking him to the door when he stopped. “Oh, actually, I wanted to give you something,” he said, turning around and heading down the hall.

Stiles rocked on his toes as he waited, before he made faces at an uncaring Lady Godiva. Peter reappeared with a box in his hand and handed it over. Stiles immediately flushed when he saw what it was. A butt plug, a small one, by Tantus.

“I want to tell you when to wear it if you’re still up for that,” Peter said, watching him. 

Stiles continued to stare at the plug. It wasn’t particularly wide or long, but it would probably feel like it was once it was in his ass. Still, imagining Peter instructing him to wear it made shivers roll up his spine. “I am,” he said, before he opened his bag and put it inside. He looked to Peter again. “I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Text me your schedule, and we can work something out,” Peter said, and Stiles nodded. Peter moved in and kissed him gently. 

Stiles couldn’t help his spastic little giggle when they parted, and he turned to go out the door.

“Oh, wait,” Peter said, and Stiles turned toward to look at him. Peter lifted his hands to the collar that Stiles had forgotten he was still wearing, undoing the clasp and sliding it off. “I’ll have this waiting for you when you come back.”

Stiles rubbed his fingers against the bare skin, for some reason feeling naked without it. He turned completely toward Peter again. “Can you do me a favor?” he asked.

“Anything for you,” Peter replied smoothly, and Stiles would have given anything to be so suave.

“Can you—can you mark me? On my neck? Even if it’s not the collar, I want something there to say I’m… taken.” He wanted to look at the floor in embarrassment, but he forced himself to look straight ahead, keeping their gazes locked.

A slow smile spread across Peter’s face, and he stepped forward, backing Stiles against the door and pressing their lips together. The kiss didn’t last long before he was mouthing and nipping his way along Stiles’s jaw and down his neck, finding a good spot at the base to start to suck at, his hands coming up to hook behind Stiles’s shoulders.

Stiles let out a little moan at the sharp sensation of blood being pulled to the surface of his skin. He closed his eyes and let his head fall to the side, baring his throat completely for Peter.

All too soon it was over, and Peter was pulling back, eyeing his work and rubbing a thumb gently across it. He turned his blue eyes to Stiles’s, and there was a hunger there, a fierceness. “If you don’t leave now, I might not let you leave at all.”

Stiles opened his mouth to say ‘fuck it’ but then he remembered it was Sunday, so that meant study group. “Right, I should go,” he said in a rush, and pawed at the door to find the knob. He was three seconds from throwing himself at this man, and Peter looked ready to catch him. “Bye.”

He managed to get out the door, catching Peter’s smirk before he shut it and put a barrier between them. He blew a sigh out his lips and headed for the elevator. As the pleasant music played during his descent, he couldn’t help but touch the lightly throbbing spot on his neck and pull his bottom lip through his teeth, letting out a giggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale), for the editing and the cheerleading. 
> 
> Halestorm is a real band. You should check them out if you like kind of heavy rock.
> 
> Next update by **8/24/14**.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of butt stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> Early update. These chapters keep getting longer, wuh!

It didn’t take long for Stiles and Peter to make plans for Saturday again. This time Peter was going to pick him up, and they were going to have an evening out at the club. Stiles was excited about this. Since Peter was officially his dom now, he could be part of the goings on instead of someone who felt completely out of place.

On Monday, he texted Peter before his noon class, asking how his day was going. Peter said he was going to the museum to check out a new fossil. Apparently he was a kind of expert who was notified about the fruits of digs. Stiles thought it was fancy. 

Even though Peter insisted it was no big deal since he was more of a consultant than anything, and he wasn't paid.

 **Should I start calling you Dr Grant?** Stiles teased.

 **You better not,** Peter replied huffily. 

Stiles had to laugh.

Tuesday was much the same, just different classes. Stiles texted Peter under the shelter of his desk while he was tuning out a professor who was ranting about an experience he had while he was teaching high school. He'd already told the story once, but no one elected to stop him.

 **Did you ever think about teaching college courses?** he asked.

Peter responded almost immediately. **Teaching high school drained me of my enjoyment of the profession. I like running my clubs so much more.**

 **Too bad there's no course called BDSM 101.** He could just imagine Peter breaking down Safe, Sane and Consensual and quizzing on the difference between a playful 'no, stop!' and actual safewords.

**Wouldn't that be a treat?**

On Wednesday, Stiles went to watch the college team's lacrosse practice. It was an excuse to yell really loudly and embarrass the hell out Scott. It was a brotherly thing. He made sure to do that a couple times before he texted Peter and asked how he was. When the subject of lacrosse came up, Peter asked if he'd ever played.

 **I was on the team in high school,** was Stiles's response. **Second line, so I pretty much just warmed the bench the whole time. I got to play a game twice in the four years I was on the team.**

**I can see why you didn't pursue it into college level.**

**I sometimes toss a ball around with Scott,** Stiles admitted. **But other than that I don't have any passion for it.**

Right as he was getting ready for bed, Peter sent him a picture message, and Stiles let out a snort of a laugh when he opened it. It was Lady Godiva, dead asleep with her tongue out. The caption was, **Majestic queen.**

Thursday was pretty busy, since his classes were back to back and he had to rush to get to them on time. He didn't even remember to text Peter until that night. Peter remarked that he didn't mind at all.

 **Have a pleasant night, Stiles,** Peter said. **Dream of wonderful things.**

Stiles dreamt of Peter's hands on his body.

On Friday, Stiles nearly texted Peter to tell him he'd woken up with the worst of morning wood and that it was all his fault. He didn't though, after some consideration, since he'd already taken care of it in the shower.

Later on in the afternoon, Peter texted him to ask what he was up to.

 **Just waiting to go to my last class,** Stiles replied, sitting in the quad and people watching out of boredom.

 **How much time do you have?** Peter asked.

Stiles glanced at the time. **About 30mins.**

**I want you to do something for me if you're up to it.**

Swallowing, Stiles replied with, **What is it?**

**I want you to wear your plug to your last class.**

Stiles flushed up to the roots of his hair, standing up and starting to power walk toward his dorm. **You’re evil,** he informed the man.

 **Possibly,** was Peter’s response. 

Stiles could practically hear him smiling. **Okay, I’ll do it.**

He got back to the dorm, and luckily there was no Scott in sight, so he went to his dresser and dug out the plug, which was still in its box, and some lube. He didn’t bother taking his clothes off, just undid his pants and shimmied them and his underwear down around his ankles. He quickly slicked up two of his fingers and reached behind himself, one elbow braced on the dresser.

He was quick about it just case Scott came in, biting his bottom lip as he moved his fingers in and out of his hole. He got himself almost sloppy wet, groaning softly as he spread his fingers this way and that. He removed them and fought with the box, practically ripping the top off in his hurry to get to the plug. He drizzled more lube over that and craned his head around to watch as he pressed it into the crack of his ass. At first he missed, given the bad angle, and jabbed himself in the balls. With a grunt, he tried again and got it right.

The noise that left Stiles as the plug sank into him was one he was glad no one was around to hear. It was a near desperate thing, and his knees shook as the plug nestled against his prostate. Shit. This was going to be hard—literally hard—he could tell. With trembling fingers, he pushed against the base of the plug, whining as pleasure rolled up his spine.

“Fuck,” he moaned, before he managed to let the plug go and reached down to pull his pants up. He then spent a couple minutes shoving his butt at the bathroom mirror at different angles to see if the plug's base was visible. It might have been if he were wearing skinnies, but with loose jeans it was invisible. But since he was really self-conscious, he pulled on a long overshirt anyway.

Stiles quickly realized that walking normally made the plug dig into his sensitive places, and walking like a bow-legged cowboy probably would have brought on unwanted attention. He decided, instead, to just walk as quickly as possible. While he was enduring what felt like a planet up his butt—an exaggeration since the plug was actually small sized, but felt like the center of Stiles's universe—he texted Peter.

 **I reiterate,** he sent off as he reached the building his class was in. **Evil.**

 **How does it feel?** Peter asked.

 **Awesome,** Stiles had to reply, shuddering with a shot of pleasure up his spine. **But also like I'm going to pop a boner during class.**

 **If you manage to get through your class, I'll reward you,** Peter told him.

Stiles gulped, walking down the hallway and nearly crashing into someone as he focused on his phone. **What kind of reward?**

**Something you'll like. Text me when you're someplace private.**

Ugh. Stiles hurried into the classroom and jogged up the steps to sit in the back, that way he'd be less obvious if he needed to... adjust anything. The class filled up as Stiles pulled out his book and notes, and soon the professor came in and started the lesson on child development.

At first Stiles was okay. As long as he didn’t move, the plug wouldn’t move inside him. Yup, good logic there. He managed to sit perfectly still on the edge of his seat for about twenty minutes before he managed to forget himself and scooted back. He made a weird noise immediately as the plug dug into his inner walls. He tried to cover it with a cough, since a couple people glanced at him. Thankfully the professor didn’t ask if he was okay.

He then spent a few long minutes trying to subtly squirm around and get back into a position that didn’t have him chubbing in his pants. It didn’t work. He ended up just sinking down in his chair as the people next to him probably wondered if he had hemorrhoids. He put his elbow on his desk, giving up and just hiding his face in his hand. God, if he moved just right, he could probably bring himself off. He didn’t, obviously, but the thought of it had him hot all over. 

He was trembling by the time the class let out, and he just ran back to his dorm, uncaring who he nearly bowled over in the process. 

When he got to the dorm and was shrugging off his clothes, he sent off a message to Scott that said, **This is a electronic sock on the door.**

A minute later Scott replied, **Ew gross. Open a window when you’re done. I don’t want to smell your spunk later.**

Stiles grinned. **No promises.** And he threw himself naked onto his bed. He fought not to rub against his sheets like a rutting animal as he typed out a message to Peter that said, **Class finished, back at the dorm.**

His phone started to ring immediately, and Stiles had to grin because it was the Jurassic Park theme. If Peter only knew, he probably would have made a face of disapproval. Stiles slid his thumb across the face and put it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Stiles,” came Peter’s voice, and it was low and sultry like a purr. Stiles shivered all the way down to his toes as he clenched on the plug out of reflex. “Having a pleasant day?”

Stiles weighed the pros and cons of begging. He was that keyed up. “I got through my class,” he tried.

“And I’m sure it was very difficult for you. You’re so sensitive that you probably felt like you were being fucked every time you breathed.”

The only thing Stiles could really do was moan. He reached down and took hold of his dick, squeezing at the base. “Please,” he whimpered.

“Ah yes, I promised to reward you, didn’t I?” Peter let out a soft sigh, before he put on a voice that made Stiles shiver violently. “Get your lube and spread out on your bed.”

Stiles scrambled up and over to his dresser to get said lube, before he starfished onto his bed as best he could given that it was an XL twin. “Okay, got it,” he said, popping and closing the cap repeatedly for the clicking noise and to have _something_ to do with his hands.

“Good, now I want you to reach down and slowly remove the plug. Don’t be too eager.”

Peter must have wanted him to go slow because when he did it was agony. There weren’t any bumps or ridges on the plug, but he could feel it like it was five times the size it actually was. He moaned when it was finally out and couldn’t help but rub his fingers over his hole, feeling how loose he was.

He shuddered and accidentally jammed his cheek into the phone screen, somehow bring up the keyboard and making a beep into his and Peter’s ear. “Ah, shit, sorry,” he said, trying to adjust his phone.

“Put me on speaker,” Peter said easily, and Stiles a moment of near panic before he realized that no one else could hear them. Duh, right.

“Okay,” Stiles said, hitting the right button then laying the phone on the pillow. That gave him two hands to touch himself with, but he didn’t. He waited on Peter’s instruction, gazing down at his leaking cock and trying not to moan at the throbbing of his ass.

“I want to try something new,” Peter said, and Stiles made some kind of intelligible noise. “Do you think you could come when I say and not before then?”

Oh God. “I don’t…” he moaned, before he licked his lips. “I’m not sure.”

“Let’s try,” Peter replied in a soothing voice, and Stiles was pretty sure today was the day he was going to die. “Fuck yourself with your fingers. Start off with just the one at first. Keep your other hand off your dick for now.”

Stiles popped the cap on the lube and squirted far more than he meant to onto the tips of his fingers. Oh well, there was no such thing as too much lube, right? He reached down and pressed one finger easily inside, his brows furrowing and his free hand clenching in the sheets. One finger felt like _nothing._

“I can practically hear your frustration,” Peter said with a chuckle, because he was the spawn of Satan apparently. “Don’t worry. It will get better. Curl your finger and search. You know what you’re looking for.”

Stiles did, and he mewled when he found it, rubbing against it. He put his feet against the bed and canted his hips up so he could reached between his legs easier. It still wasn’t enough, not nearly. He bit his lip to keep his moan in as he stroked himself inside anyway. He was just desperate for anything. “Peter,” he whined when his teeth released his lip.

“I know, beautiful,” Peter said, and Stiles twitched in response. “Go ahead and add another finger. It’s easy, isn’t it? Your body is craving it. You couldn’t probably stuff yourself full of your fingers or that toy you told me you have, but not this time. Just use your fingers.”

Stiles did, arching a bit as he slid another finger alongside the other, immediately pressing up against his prostate and letting out a choked off sound. He didn’t want his dorm mates giving himself funny looks. A second finger still wasn’t nearly enough. His body swallowed it like it was _hungry_ for it. 

“How does it feel?” Peter asked in a voice that was mellow and low like he could be talking about anything.

Stiles wanted to hiss at him. Peter could play him like an instrument. Just the sound of him made his hole clench on his fingers, because it knew what he really wanted. So he decided to be a bit of a brat. “Good,” he responded, pleased his voice was mostly even. “Would be better if it was your dick.”

There was a catch in Peter’s breath, and Stiles had to grin as he put his head back, thrusting his fingers in and out of himself. He felt just a bit proud of himself.

“Oh, is that how it is?” Peter asked, and there was an edge to his voice now, one that made Stiles lick his lips. “You want my cock? Want me to grab your legs and push you wide open so I can fuck your pretty little ass?” 

“Oh, fuck—” Stiles bit out, almost curling in on himself as parts in him clenched down so wonderfully. “Yes,” he whined. “Please!”

“If I were there I’d put you over my knee and spank you until you couldn’t take it anymore, then I might fuck you. Only if you were good for me. You want to be good for me, don’t you, Stiles?”

Stiles couldn’t even ponder how Peter had turned that around on him so fast. He was too turned on by the authority in Peter’s words. “Yes,” he sobbed, feeling the mounting pleasure low in his belly. “Please, can I—please!”

“Just a few more minutes, sweet thing,” Peter murmured to him, and Stiles didn’t know how he didn’t come right then, but he managed to hold off. He had such a kink for Peter's voice. “It will be all the better if you hold back. Now, just one more finger.”

Stiles made a whining sound, pressing another finger into his hole and finally feeling the stretch of it. It felt amazing, heat licking up his spine and pulling his pleasure to the surface like boiling, roiling, threatening to explode. "Oh God—fuck—shit—please, please!"

"Listen to the mouth on you. Is this what you sound like when you're not trying to be quiet?" Peter asked with a chuckle.

Stiles may have been focusing on not coming all over the place as his fingers pummelled in and out, but he couldn't stay quiet when taunted. He sucked in a harsh breath. "I'm starting to think tha-that you like telling what to do so you-you can sit there and do nothing." Well he almost made it through without stammering from the pleasure.

There was silence at first, and Stiles was briefly afraid he actually offended Peter, but then he started to laugh, loud and bright. "Cheeky thing!" Peter said, his smile audible. "You're going to pay for that. Later. Right now I want you to _come for me_."

Stiles came so hard he saw stars, a shout breaking in his throat as his dick flung a string of white into the air so high it landed on his neck. He hadn't known that Peter could do that with his voice, make so rough and hot. He twitched through the aftershocks, his thighs trembling. "Fuuuck," he groaned, finally just sagging.

"That sounded like fun," Peter said, and Stiles turned his head toward the phone with a whimper. "Alright, take a moment then get cleaned up. I'll wait."

Stiles shivered one last time, before he heaved himself up and went to the bathroom. He cleaned himself and the plug, before he put the toy in the dresser and pulled on some sleep pants. He wasn't going anywhere anyway. Then he opened the window to air out the room, so Scott wouldn't complain that it smelled like sex.

Finally he grabbed the phone, taking it off speaker and putting it to his ear as he sat down on his bed. "Hey."

Peter chuckled. "Hey yourself. Feel better?"

"Much," Stiles said, sighing contently. His limbs felt loose and noodly, and the soft breeze from the window felt awesome on his skin. He could hear the faint sound of people too, talking and going on about their way.

"I love hearing you in the throes of passion as it were," Peter said. "It made me wish I was there instead of in my office going over forms."

"That sounds like so much fun," Stiles said with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh yes, renewing my liquor licenses is so invigorating." Peter heaved a deep sigh. "Thank you for the distraction, my sweet."

Stiles tried not to titter at the pet name. "No problem." He stretched out his legs with a yawn. "I'm really excited about seeing you tomorrow."

"As am I," Peter replied. "I'm looking forward to showing you off."

Shivering at the idea, Stiles licked his lips. "What should I wear?"

"Whatever you're comfortable in is fine. You won't be clothed for long."

Now that was a promise that made Stiles moan.

* * *

"That's it, I'm taking you shopping," Lydia said after she'd gone through all of Stiles's clothes and deemed none of them acceptable. She stood among the discarded pile of plaid with an annoyed look on her face.

"What, now?" Stiles asked from the bed where he was sitting with Allison and watching Lydia plow through his belongings.

"No, not now," Lydia huffed, before she grabbed the black tank top he'd worn to the club last time and chucked it at his head. "But soon, Stiles. Your wardrobe looks like you are the world's skinniest lumberjack. Who ever said plaid was your pattern was lying to you."

"I like plaid," Stiles complained softly, and Allison bumped his shoulder with hers. He sighed and pulled the black shirt on. "Peter told me to be comfortable."

"There's a difference between comfortable and frumpy." Lydia grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. "Let's go."

The car ride to Teeth was filled with Lydia and Allison going back and forth about the clothing shops they were going to drag Stiles to. Stiles just slumped down in his seat and sulked, wondering when he stopped being able to take care of himself.

"You know, I can't really afford to buy a whole new wardrobe," Stiles piped up.

That got him a death stare through the rearview mirror. "Don't be silly. I'll pay for everything."

Stiles blinked. "Wait, you serious?"

Lydia harrumphed as Allison turned to look back at him. "She's filthy rich, and you're her new project."

"I don't know if I'm comfortable with that," Stiles tried.

Lydia waved his protests away. "It wouldn't be much, just a few tops and a couple pairs of pants, enough that you can mix and match." She looked at him in the mirror again. "If it makes you feel better, I could ask Peter to split the bill with me."

Stiles fidgeted. He'd always been kind of hard up on extra cash. His Jeep was a piece of shit—though he loved his Roscoe to death, may she run forever. He'd worked summer jobs to put gas in the tank and help out with bills where his dad would let him. He was on a full ride scholarship, but there wasn't much after housing expenses and food. He had a little fun money every month, but it wasn't enough to buy that many clothes.

"I'd rather you didn't," he decided, catching the way Lydia’s brows bowed when she looked back at him. “It just feels weird.” He didn’t really know how to explain how he didn’t want to be taken care of like that without sounding like an unappreciative douche.

Lydia seemed to get it though if by the way her face changed said anything. “Stiles, I’d be buying you clothes as your friend, not as your dom,” she said evenly, carefully. 

Stiles sank down in his seat. "Would Peter?"

After a silent moment, Lydia replied, "I don't know." She focused on the road for nearly a full moment before she looked at Stiles in the mirror again. "Just one shirt?" she tried, giving him a hesitantly hopeful smile.

Stiles rolled his eyes and relented. "Okay, one shirt. We'll call it a late birthday present."

"Yay." Lydia was all smiles, and Stiles was pretty sure by the time the shopping trip was over she will have talked him into a pair of pants and a g-string too.

When they got to the club, Benji the doorman let them all in without asking for IDs or a cover charge. Stiles had to smile, figuring that for him at least it was just a perk of banging the boss. The place was busier than usual, though Stiles only had two nights to base his definition of 'usual' on. But there were quite a few people, all talking excitedly so there was a constant buzz of noise.

The first people they saw were Danny—Stiles managed to remember his name after a moment—and a grumpy looking blond guy he had his arm around. "Hey," Danny said in greeting. His eyes fell on Stiles, and he smiled. "Stiles, right?"

Stiles blinked. "Yeah, that's me."

"I thought you'd look like you know what you're doing," the blond dude said, and yeah, he was grumpy. He grunted out a noise when Danny squeezed the back of his neck. "Peter doesn't usually take newbies," he complained.

Danny squeezed again, and then time the guy dropped his head. "Don't listen to Jackson. He has no idea what he's talking about." Danny gave Jackson a look, cutting his dry huff off at the wick.

Stiles frowned anyway as the two walked away, Danny talking low into Jackson's ear and Jackson nodding along. Was he too inexperienced for Peter? The man had been endlessly patient with him, but he thought he was keeping up. The thought haunted him as Lydia and Allison moved on. They were greeting pretty much everyone in sight, and he could do little more than hang back as touches and kisses were exchanged. He felt so out of place all of the sudden.

"It's so good to see you," Lydia was telling a woman that was dressed like a sexy librarian, and the woman smiled back. "I want you to meet someone." Lydia glanced around, apparently noticing Stiles wasn't at her side anymore. She spotted him and reached out to grab his wrist, dragging him into the fray as it were. "This is Stiles."

Stiles tried to smile in a friendly way as the woman accessed him by dragging her eyes up and down his form. "Hey," he said, rather pathetically.

"Hello, Stiles," the woman said, smiling like how a predator would when it's trying not to scare away its prey. "I'm Julia." She held out a hand. "You must be Peter's new sub. We heard you're adorable."

Stiles shook her hand. "Heard from who?"

"Everyone." Well, that was terrifying.

"Word travels fast in this community," Allison explained, before she looked at Julia again. "Is Kali not here with you tonight?"

"She was naughty, so she's tied up in the Red Room right now," Julia said smoothly. "I'll bring her out when the show is about to start."

"Show?" Stiles asked, feeling about five steps behind everyone.

"Peter didn't tell you?" Lydia asked, and Stiles shook his head. She blew out a breath through her nose, causing her nostrils to flare, and it was weirdly adorable. "I can't imagine he would forget. He's putting on a presentation tonight. That's why there are so many people here."

"Oh," Stiles mumbled, not sure how to feel.

"Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise?" Allison suggested with a shrug.

"Maybe he just likes being dramatic," Julia said, before she spotted someone behind them and waved. "There's Ennis and the twins. I'll see you lovely people later." She squeezed Stiles's wrist a little before walking off.

"Oh, look, there's Boyd and Erica," Lydia said, putting her arms around both Allison and Stiles and hauling them away, even as Stiles was staring dumbly at Julia as she talked to a tall man in leather outfit and cap and a pair of twins in matching tight pants and nothing else. They both had collars on, and the man, Ennis, was holding the end of the chains attached to them.

Stiles's mortified wonderings about if the twins did things _together_ was interrupted as Lydia stopped in front of a tall black man and a much shorter, curvy blonde. He remembered them from before, but he hadn't committed their names to memory.

"Hey guys," Allison said as she hugged them both. 

Stiles could only stare, because Erica was wearing a nearly sheer, loose white dress, and it was easy to see through the fabric the crisscrossing red robe that covered her torso in diamonds and looped around her thighs all the way down her legs. If that was what bondage under clothes was, Stiles wanted to jump on that train.

“So you must be Stiles,” Erica said, interrupting his unabashed gawking. She gave him a sharp, kind of frightening smile, like she wanted to be his bestie or maybe drink his blood. “How old are you even?”

Stiles made a face. He was so very tired of that question.

“As old as you, so old enough.” 

Stiles was startled by the voice and whipped around to see Peter standing right behind him, smiling in amusement. Stiles sighed in relief, before he just fell against Peter’s front, wrapping his arms around his waist and burrowing his face into his shoulder. He had missed him, and he had started to feel like he was going to be introduced to everyone like a gauntlet of people before he got to see him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Peter said, putting one arm around Stiles's waist and using the other hand to cup the back of his neck. “Don’t let them scare you,” Peter murmured right into his ear. “They like to overwhelm the new people.”

‘They’ must have meant everyone, because Stiles was feeling overstimulated and out of place. He was feeling submissive, but not in a good way. He just needed a moment to ground himself.

Peter kissed the lobe of his ear, before he just ran his fingernails through the short hairs on the back of Stiles’s neck. Then he started talking to the others. First he complimented the rope work the Boyd had done on Erica, saying he wished his knots came out so delicately. Stiles was pretty sure he was just talking down his own skills, because Peter was the kind of perfectionist where practice made perfect.

Lydia and Peter started to talk then, Lydia saying she ordered a new flogger and was excited for it to arrive. Allison piped up to say he was looking forward for it to be tested on her skin.

Finally Stiles felt human again and less like a piece of meat, pulling back. He smiled as Peter gave him a soft look, considering. He tried to say 'thanks for letting me cling' without actually saying it. Peter seemed to understand if his nod was anything to go by.

"So," Lydia chirped, and Stiles looked over to find her and Allison watching them, while Boyd and Erica had walked off somewhere. "You didn't tell Stiles about your show."

"Did I not?" Peter replied smoothly, though his smiled belied his intentions. He looked at Stiles, who glared halfheartedly back. "I'm doing a bullwhip demonstration. It's really not anything to get excited about."

"Oh, modesty does not become you, Peter," Lydia sighed out with a roll of her eyes. "What he means it that he's going to show us some techniques that barely a hundred people in the country can pull off."

"Mm, guilty," Peter admitted, grinning as he put his arm around Stiles's waist and tugged him against his side. "Now, if you'll excuse us, ladies, I'll be stealing Stiles away now."

"Oh no, whatever will I do," Stiles said, fake swooning and causing the girls to laugh as he was tugged away.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea as they went through it, people subconsciously moving out of the way for Peter like they could feel him coming. It was probably the confidence that Peter oozed in waves. Stiles could only hold on.

Peter led them to the back, and Stiles was surprised to find that the little stage that he'd seen Lydia flogging Allison on that first night had changed. The Saint Andrew's cross was gone now, that the stage had been expanded to encompass the whole area, the furniture pushed out of the way and up against the wall. Peter directed him around the stage and to a couch.

"Are you alright now?" Peter asked as they sat down, and he took Stiles's hand in his, turning it as he pulled it up so he could kiss his inner wrist.

"I'm fine now," Stiles replied, fighting not to shiver. "I just wasn't prepared for the crowd."

"I should have told you." Peter rubbed Stiles's arm with one hand while gripping his fingers with the other. "I'm sorry."

This time Stiles couldn't help his shiver or the way his hairs stood on end as he got goosebumps. "It's okay. You couldn't have known how I'd react anyway." He scooted closer and pressed their lips together softly. "I'm excited to see this presentation of yours though."

Peter smiled as he drew back. Then he let out a soft 'oh!' and turned, pikcing up a satchel that Stiles hadn't notice off the ground. It was plain black, just like any ordnary messenger bag. Peter flipped the flap back to open it and dug around inside before he pulled out Stiles's collar.

"Oh," Stiles remarked.

"Do you want to wear it? On the list you said the club was fine for public collaring." Peter didn't move to put it on him.

"No, it's fine. I want to." Stiles put his head back to expose his throat.

"Hm," Peter mused, touching the juncture of his neck and shoulder first. "We'll have to renew that." He must have been talking about the hickey. It had since faded to yellow and disappeared, and Stiles had been missing it. He was pleased Peter knew he needed it. 

Peter looped the collar around his neck and latched it in place, running his fingers along the edge of it. "There, now everyone will know you're mine."

"I think everybody already knows," Stiles said with a snort, reaching up to trace his fingers over the collar. "I think they want all the deets."

Peter snorted before tipping his chin up. "I am a gentleman. I do not spank and tell." He grinned as Stiles rolled his eyes so hard. 

Stiles would probably tell Scott everything if it wouldn't make his friend burst into flames. He wished he had someone to talk to about his experiences, because they were pretty exciting to him. Maybe he could join some kind of BDSM forum. Lydia would probably listen too. He'd have to remember that.

Peter scooted closer and took him by the cheek, leaning in to kiss him again. It wasn't a gentle thing this time. Peter swiped his tongue against Stiles's lips, pressing inside when Stiles's mouth opened. Stiles could do little more than moan, catching the front of Peter's shirt in his fingers and trying to follow the rolls and presses of Peter's tongue with his own.

Stiles was straddling Peter's lap, head thrown back as Peter attacked his neck, when someone came over and said it was time for the presentation to start. Peter nodded to the man, running his hands up Stiles's legs to his ass. He hooked his fingers in the back pocket and gave Stiles a sultry smile. "Duty calls," he said, voice low, before he nodded to the side. "The audience has gathered."

Looking over, Stiles shuddered and flushed when he saw all the people had gather on the other side of the stage, sitting in rows of seats that had been set up just for tonight. Stiles had a moment to wonder if they were watching them, but he was pretty sure they couldn’t even see him and Peter for the height of the stage and the angle. That was good. He didn’t really know what his feelings about exhibitionism were.

Stiles slid off Peter’s lap and onto the couch, watching as he opened the satchel again and pulled out a long whip of braided black leather before setting the bag down and getting up. He gave Stile one last evil, and there was something dirty about it that made Stiles flush in excitement. He watched Peter round the stage until he reached a set of steps, which he jogged up and faced the horde of people.

The lights dimmed until only the stage was lit up, and Stiles looked over as Lydia and Allison hurried over and took a seat next to Stiles, both of them with their bright eyes locked on Peter in anticipation. Stiles took a moment to greedily stare at his butt before Peter turned to his back was to the wall and everyone in the whole club could see him.

“Hello, friends,” he said as he let the whip unfurl at his side, the body of it hitting the stage with light ‘pap, pap’s. “People have been asking me if I would ever do a bullwhip demonstration after a few people saw my whip collection at last year’s party.” Somebody whooped in the crowd, and Peter laughed. “Well, here it is.” He lifted the whip. “Just as a quick introduction, the parts of the whip are the handle, the thong—” He lifted the whip, hooking the length of it with his thumb and sliding the fingers along the length to indicate the longest part. “—the fall—” He slid the thin, single piece of leather on the end through his fingers before he reached a small bulb with a tail. “—and the popper.”

He dropped the whip and walked closer to the crowd, dragging the whip along with him. “I’ve never used a bullwhip on a person, and I wouldn’t suggest it, because the whip gains so much momentum in the swing that it breaks the sound barrier.” He reared his arm back and snapped it forward, the whip making a loud _crack_ over the heads of the crowd, causing a few of them to shout in surprise. Peter just smiled. “You can just imagine what that would do to skin.”

Peter was ever the performer as he continued to talk about the bullwhip and its uses, usually with cattle and in equestrian terms. He did a fancy swirling move over his head then snapped the end of the whip on the downstroke. Stiles was pretty sure his entire sexuality at the moment was the way Peter was moving his arms, the way his biceps bulged and stretched out the short sleeves of his black v-neck. Stiles wanted to run his tongue all over him.

“The original usage for the bullwhip, along with its cousin the snakewhip have not been solidly identified.” He took the whip and pulled three feet of it taut in the space between his hands. “Leather is not made for longevity, so who knows how long they’ve been around and have just disintegrated? Those of us that have had floggers and riding crops fall apart as the integrity of the leather fails know this well. The only we can be certain that whips, flails and floggers are meant to be an extension of one’s arm.”

Lydia got up then, grabbing the satchel and heading around the stage to climb the steps. She reached into the bag and pulled out three metal rings about a foot and a half in diameter. “I’ve always wanted to be the lovely assistant,” she remarked as she took one ring and held it above her head. 

Peter chuckled, turned toward her and swung his arm back and forth, before he pulled it back and snapped the whip toward her, the end of it wrapping around the ring. They held that position, and several people clapped, amazed that Peter had so much control and probably that Lydia didn’t do so much as blink. Either she had nerves of steal, or she just trusted Peter’s ability. Probably both.

With a snap of his wrist, the ring popped out of Lydia’s hand and soared toward Peter, who caught it easily, earning another bit of applause. Then when she held the other two rings up, he pulled them away in rapid succession. He threw one of the acquired rings up into the air, catching it at it’s highest point with the whip and turning swiftly on his heel to make the ring soar over the heads of the crowd, the metal singing as he did so. He popped his arm back and caught the ring again when the whip released it.

Stiles was the first one on his feet, clapping and hollering unashamedly for his beautiful dom, and the rest of the club joined in almost immediately. Peter laughed, curling the whip around his hand and bent elbow. He took a bow after a group of ladies shouted out, "We love you, Peter!" Then he turned and walked off the stage.

When he got back to the group, his cheeks were a little flushed and his breathing was quickened. He was grinning and looking about as pleased as he could with himself. After he put the rings and the whip back in the satchel, he put his arm around Stiles and kissed him _hard_ on the mouth.

Stiles was a bit dazed when he withdrew, and he blushed hard when the ladies giggled. He'd forgotten they were there.

"If you're going to molest each other, you better go now," Lydia said, before she nodded to the other side of the stage. "Or you're going to be waylaid by adoring fans."

"You understand me like no other," Peter said, before he tangled his fingers with Stiles's and dragged him toward the rooms in the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks always to [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> *hides* Hope you don't hate the cliffhanger too much. 
> 
> The next chapter will have _so much_ sex.
> 
> Next update by **8/31/14.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would you like a little spanking with that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> Because I cut off the last chapter, the beginning of this one is sex. Yay! 
> 
> Early update again. Whee.

The moment they were in the room, Peter had Stiles up against the door and was sucking on his tongue. His touches were rough in a good way, and the way he was grinding their hips together made Stiles want to melt. He puts his hands everywhere he can, feeling tensed muscle under soft skin slightly damp with sweat.

When Peter released his mouth, it was to attack his neck, and Stiles groaned as his pulse point was nipped and licked. "You're all keyed up," he remarked, dragging his nails through Peter's hair. "I like it."

Peter huffed against Stiles's neck, dragging his tongue along a now doubt new hickey, before he mouthed his way up to his ear. "You're going to like me eating your ass even more."

Stiles could do little more than squeak, before Peter reached down, caught him under his thighs and lifted him up. Stiles had to wrap his limbs around Peter or fall and crack his head open. Peter carried him like he weighed nothing all the way to the bed, where he dropped him. Stiles bounced before settling, and Peter's hands were already on his belt, undoing it before pulling his pants open.

"I don't think you're like this of-TEN!" Stiles's sentence turned into a shout as Peter flipped him over without warning. This got his blood pumping, his pulse racing and his breathing coming out in pants.

When Peter pulled Stiles's pants down, he left them tangled around his ankles and feet, the cool air of Stiles's butt making him shudder. He didn't bother with Stiles's shirt before parting his ass cheeks and leaning in to drag his tongue over his hole.

Stiles gasped something out of surprise, and he fisted his fingers in the sheets while waiting for Peter to do it again. When he didn't, he looked back and found Peter considering him over the mound of his ass. "What?" Stiles asked, confused.

"What language was that?" Peter replied with furrowed brows.

Stiles flushed pink. "Oh, I sometimes slip into Polish when I'm... excited." He folded his arms under his cheek. "I'm not fluent, but I know some."

Peter smiled, digging his fingertips into Stiles's butt. "That's adorable."

Stiles tried to frown convincingly even as he blushed deeper. "How can that be adorable when my butt is in your face?" He squeaked when Peter responded by biting the curve of his ass cheek. Stiles wiggled to try and get him to do it again. He did, and Stiles made a shrill noise out of joy.

Peter laughed against Stiles’s tailbone, before he nuzzled it and dragged his lips into the cleft of Stiles’s ass. He didn’t tease, instead undulated his tongue over Stiles’s hole. Stiles didn’t know what to do other than to just take it. Bent over the edge of the bed as he was, his cock trapped between his belly and the covers, he was reduced to moans. He let himself be loud, knowing Peter liked it, and as the pleasure ran through his form in waves, he just got louder.

Peter’s tongue was every bit as nimble as his clever fingers, tracing the rim of his hole over and over in maddening circles. He pressed his tongue in, and Stiles blurted out something vulgar in Polish, astonished about how good this felt. He’d been rimmed once before, but that guy apparently hadn’t known what he was doing. Peter seemed to know everything though.

“Oh, fuck, oh, Peter,” Stiles babbled on, his toes curling in his shoes. He tried to spread his legs some, but the puddle of pants and underwear around his feet prevented him from moving. He had a feeling that was deliberate on Peter’s part.

Stiles was near on the edge of coming from just this, his muscle tensing up and his balls drawing close to his body. He was about to beg to be allowed when Peter pulled away with a lingering swipe of his tongue.

“Don’t move,” Peter said in the lowest voice, walking away.

Shuddering, Stiles moaned out a soft, “Couldn’t if I wanted to.” He sagged, letting the bed take more of his weight as he released the tension in his knees.

Peter returned a moment later, setting one hand on Stiles’s back. The fingers of the other hand, slicked with lube, slid through the crack of his ass. Two of them slid into his hole with little preamble, and Stiles moaned as he pressed back, wanting more as his body took the intrusion so sweetly, opening up with little resistance after the thorough tonguing he’d received. 

“I almost feel like saying something clichéd like how you were made for this,” Peter said, his fingers turning and twisting and brushing over Stiles’s prostate in a teasing graze.

Stiles licked his lips and looked at Peter over his shoulder. “Then I would have to say that you were made to do it to me,” he said, sounding terribly out of breath so his words were more gasps than anything. He was trembling with the effort of keeping himself from fucking back on Peter’s fingers.

Peter smiled devilishly, curling his fingers and raking them over Stiles’s prostate. “Maybe I was,” he said in a voice like a jungle cat purr. Stiles could reply only in a harsh groan. 

Adding another finger, Peter spread them all, causing a burn to roll up Stiles’s spine. It was a good burn, the kind that made him whimper in delight, and he blurted out that he wanted—needed more as his cock leaked against the sheets.

Peter removed his fingers with one last drag against his prostate. Stiles moaned at the emptiness, turning his head to watch Peter unzip his pants and free his cock. Fuck, he wasn’t even going to get undressed? Stiles had never seen Peter like this, had never seen him _need_. He was still in control, managed to roll a condom on his dick without tearing it, but his hands tightened hard around Stiles’s hips as he got into position and slid inside in one smooth move.

Stiles moaned shamelessly, raking his fingers across the sheets as Peter started up a pounding rhythm, punching grunts out of his lungs. He’d always thought hard sex would hurt, and it did in a way, but it was a good hurt, the kind that would leave him with a throb for days after. Every time he moved, he would think about this, about Peter’s dick and just Peter in general. 

“Put your arms back,” Peter said in nearly a bark, and Stiles minded immediately, putting his weight on his chest as he reached behind himself. Peter caught him at the elbows, taking hold of his arms just above them and starting to pull him back to meet his piston-like thrusts.

Stiles could feel the building of heat in low parts of him, and with every stab against his prostate it grew sharper, and he lost control of the pitch of his cries. “Puh-please, Peter, I need—” He was cut off by another harsh sound, dropping his head to the bed.

“What do you need?” Peter asked him, voice low and harsh with his fast breathing. He didn’t bother to stop the movement of his hips.

“I need to come,” he begged, rubbing his forehead against the sheets. “Please let me come.” 

“I suppose I’ll allow it,” Peter said with a low laugh, and the sound brushed up Stiles’s spine like a caress. “Come for me, Stiles.”

Stiles did, rather explosively. He probably did some damage to his dick as it shot all over his stomach and the sheets while he screamed himself hoarse. Peter grunted, stilling behind him, and Stiles shuddered as he clenched around Peter’s twitching dick.

When Peter slowly released his arms, he sagged against the bed like a mass of wet noodles. Nope, not moving for a while. Kay, thanks, bye. 

Stiles breathed hard through his parted lips as he listened to Peter moving around, not even bothering to open his eyes. If he was actually lying down instead of hanging half off the bed, he probably would have been asleep by now.

He heard Peter zip his pants and sighed, and soon a hand landed on his ass, causing him to sigh, which turned into a grunt when a wet wipe slid through the crack of his ass. Then Peter was rolling him over, and Stiles could do little but go with it. He moaned softly at how sensitive he was, his dick twitching when it and his pubes were cleaned. He also didn’t exactly help when Peter pulled up his pants and covered his bare ass.

“I’ve lost all control of my limbs,” Stiles announced as his face pulled into a grin. He tingled all over.

Peter snorted, looming over him. “I can see that.” He leaned down and pressed their lips together, a gentle touch compared to the steam-powered fucking they’d just had. “Are you able to ooze off the bed and come with me out into the club?” Stiles must have made a face of discontent, because Peter smiled and ran his hands over Stiles’s arms. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you talk to people. But I have to.”

Stiles made an incoherent noise, before he pushed himself up and let Peter half carry him out of the room. He was content to sit on the couch he’d been on before and sip at a beer Peter got for him, watching his dom mingle for the rest of the night.

* * *

Sundays were study group days, and Stiles forced himself to get up before noon so he could join Scott, Isaac and other people in their study group. Today while they were all yawning and trying not to fall back to sleep, Lydia texted him and said she wanted to take him shopping and that Allison was coming along.

Somehow Scott and Isaac got roped in too. Probably because Scott just had to ask what they were going shopping for.

Stiles felt about as awkward as Scott and Isaac looked. All three of them were squished in the back of Lydia's car. Allison was riding shotgun and talking excitedly about her floor routines.

It didn't take long before Lydia pulled into a small parking lot and stopped in a space. She and Allison got out but the boys were stunned into immobility. Out the window they could see the shop, with its neon sign and one mannequin in lingerie and another in leather assless chaps.

"What kind of clothes shopping is this?" Isaac asked, before they all jumped when Lydia knocked on the window, asking why they were lagging behind.

They piled out of the car and followed Lydia and Allison up to the shop. Everyone got carded, and Isaac made a snippy comment under his breath about how he wasn't going to buy anything anyway. 

Stiles figured out why they got carded immediately. It wasn't a clothing shop; it was a sex shop. One wall was lined with _novelty items_ , meaning a whole lot of sex toys. There were short double sided shelves making aisles of more toys, along with lubes, edible panties and lollipops that looked like dicks. (Stiles kind of wanted one, just so he could suck on it in front of Peter and get a rise out of him.)

Stiles had never been in a sex shop before. The one dildo he did have was bought online, because a) he didn’t have to go into a shop and get stared at and b) it was far cheaper online. 

He sidled up to Lydia, who had gotten distracted by low melting temp sex candles. "When you said clothes shopping, I thought you meant, like, Macy's or something."

She turned her head and grinned at him, before she set the candle down and dragged him over to the clothes. It was mostly sexy costumes, lingerie and corsets, but there were a few items for men. As Lydia went through them, Stiles looked over to find Scott holding a monster dildo up and smiling as Isaac took a picture. Allison was standing with them and giggling behind her hand.

"These look promising," Lydia said, and Stiles oofed as she shoved some shirts into his arms then pointed to the dressing room.

Lydia had picked out three shirts for him to try on. The first one was totally sheer black fabric. He put it on and frown at his reflection. It would have been a nice shirt it he wanted to show off his nipples and thick happy trail. He made a face at his reflection and pulled the shirt off. The next shirt was shiny, deep blue satin, and he found he hated the way it felt against his skin.

The final shirt had an interesting design. The sides had gaps of about two inches, held together with crisscrossing black ribbons like the back of a corset. He could just imagine Peter running his fingers over the sides, catching bits of skin. He could press up against Stiles's back and sink his fingers through the holes, teasing Stiles's nipples.

"I think this is the one," Stiles said as he pulled back the curtain. 

Lydia's eyes widened a little, before she nodded in agreement. He closed the curtain again, getting back into his own shirt before he handed the laced one over to her. 

Stiles went over to his guy friends, who were playing with a box of vibrating bullets, turning them all on so the box nearly rumbled off the shelf. He sighed at them and helped turn the bullets off.

Lydia bought the shirt, handing the discrete paper bag off to Stiles. Allison bought some candles, and she and Lydia talk lowly about something, probably setting a date for when to use them. Scott bought something too, but he didn't notice it until it was in the bag. Isaac took it, flushing pink.

When they got on the road again, Lydia told them that she wanted to go to one more place. Scott and Isaac didn't seem to mind, so Stiles didn't make a fuss. He just sat back and watched Allison tap a text to someone. He was happy to be out and about and doing things with friends.

The next shop was outside of college station and into the city, near where Teeth was located. This one's windows were blacked out, so Stiles had no idea what was inside until he was at the door.

"Oh," he murmured, understanding immediately. This wasn't just a sex shop. This was a kink shop. Directly to his left was a wall lined with different sorts of restraints: leather cuffs and bundles of different kinds of ropes. There were masks, blindfolds and gags of all sorts. It took Stiles a minute to realize the silver rings on the wall were for cocks. "Holy shit."

He looked over and found Scott and Isaac still standing at the door. Isaac looked curious, and Scott looked like a sweet little puppy that lost its way. He had to admit that he felt almost the same. The only difference is he knew what all this stuff was used for. 

Stiles wandered over to where Lydia and Allison were standing next to a glass counter and examining its contents. He came up beside them and looked at what had them so interested. There was a selection of floggers there, all kinds of leathers and lash sizes. He was confused as to why they were behind glass until he noticed the delicately crafted rabbit flogger was _three hundred_ dollars. Damn.

"You don't need another one," Allison was saying as she leaned against Lydia's side.

"Maybe not," Lydia said as she tapped her perfect nails on the case. "But I want one."

Allison sighed, nuzzling her forehead against Lydia's shoulder. "Remind me why I put up with you." Lydia just smiled.

"What does it feel like?" Stiles asked, and the ladies looked at him. "To be flogged, I mean."

Lydia and Allison looked at each other before Allison spoke up. "It hurts, but it's a good hurt. Like with any impact play, it lights your skin on fire. It makes your senses dance, and your mind melts in a puddle of endorphins. Pain becomes pleasure, and soon you can't differentiate. It's my favorite thing next to spanking."

Stiles dragged in a breath. "Oh," he murmured. He stepped away from the case, rolling that around in his head. He knew he liked some pain, like biting, scratching and hair pulling. Would he like the thud of a flogger?

"Hello, stranger," came a low voice next to him, and he jerked out of his thoughts to look over and find Peter next to him.

"Oh, hey," Stiles said, turning toward him and receiving a soft kiss. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Allison texted me, so I thought I would drop by." Peter took his hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. "I hear you got something sexy to wear."

Stiles grinned. "You'll just have to wait and see." His smile only widened when Peter narrowed his eyes a little. “But since you’re here,” Stiles went on. “I want to introduce you to my friends.” He pulled Peter over to the display of paddles. They were looking a bit wide-eyed. “Hey, guys,” he said, and they looked at him, so he nodded his head toward Peter. “This is Peter.” He hesitated a second. “My dom.”

Scott blinked wide brown eyes, and everyone assessed each other for a second. "Scott," he said, offering his hand to Peter, who shook it firmly. "I'm Stiles's best friend."

"I've heard quite a bit about you," Peter said in reply, before he put his arm around Stiles’s waist. "Only good things, I assure you." He turned his eyes toward Isaac, who was staring quite obviously. "And you must be Isaac." 

Isaac flushed suddenly and nodded. Stiles had the weird urge to wrap his arms around Peter and hiss. Isaac looked like he wanted to bare his throat in submission to Peter. Instead of acting too outwardly jealous, he just leaned in closer and nuzzled his cheek against Peter's shoulder. 

“So, I'm glad you're here," Stiles said as he turned them back toward the flogger case. One of them was gone, and Lydia had a black plastic bag hanging from her wrist as she talked with Allison near the restraints. Stiles leaned his hips against the glass, looking down at the floggers pointedly. "I think I might be interested in impact play."

"Spanking is on your list as something you're open to. Are you interested in something else?" Peter asked calmly, but there was a heat in his eyes.

"Yeah," Stiles replied, his fingertip squeaking across the glass as he ran his finger over it in a circle. "I think I want to try flogging."

Peter reached up and ran his fingers through Stiles’s hair, a gentle sensation that made him shiver. "I think we can work something out."

Stiles leaned his cheek against Peter's palm, smiling softly. He was realizing not for the first time that he adored this man. He was so patient and kind that Stiles could only count himself lucky that he'd fallen in his lap and not some other dom that wouldn't take nearly as much care.

Peter ended up buying a new flogger too. As he was talking with the shop attendant, Stiles glanced around to see Isaac speaking lowly to Allison, who was nodding along. When Allison said something back, he flushed a deep red but nodded in agreement. Stiles had no idea what they were saying.

"What time is your first class tomorrow?" Peter asked, pulling him out of his nosy thoughts.

"Eleven," Stiles replied. He'd learned the hard way that early morning classes were painful.

"How would you like to come home with me, and I'll have back at your dorm first thing in the morning?" 

Stiles thought about it. He didn’t have any clothes or his toiletries, but Peter would probably let him use anything. He might even have a spare toothbrush. He licked his lips, imagining all the things that they would be doing to each other.

"Yeah, let's so that," he said, and Peter leaned in to kiss him, and this time it was full of heat and promise. When they parted Stiles felt a little flutter in his tummy and couldn't help his grinning. He took Peter’s hand and walked with him over to the others. "Hey guys, I'm going to head off with Peter." He looked at the girls. "Try not to lose them?"

"I'll do my best," Lydia replied with a knowing grin. 

"Just throw my bag on my bed when you get back to the dorm, kay?" Stiles told Scott, who nodded. "See you cats on the flipside." Stiles wrapped his arms around one of Peter’s and turned to walk out.

"I have a question," Scott said suddenly, and Stiles paused to look at him.

"'Sup?" he asked, kind of impatiently. He wanted to go get spanked and shit, dammit.

"Not for you," Scott said, drawing himself up and locking eyes with Peter. "For you."

Peter just tilted his head minutely. "Ask me anything."

Scott lifted his chin. "What are your intentions for Stiles?" he asked, and oh my God, Scott, _no._

"My intentions?" Peter repeated.

"Are you _together_ , or are you going to toss him like last week's leftovers when the new wears off?" Scott said, brow furrowing.

Stiles wanted to sink into the floor and be swallowed whole. Scott was trying to defend his honor.

Peter just chuckled. "I understand your concern. But you should know I do not enter into relationships lightly. I want to be with Stiles for as long as he'll have me."

That took Stiles by surprise. "You mean that?" he had to ask.

Peter looked him square in the eye. "I do."

"Wow," Stiles breathed out, before his face split into a smile. "Does that mean I can call you my boyfriend as well as my dom?"

Peter let out a snort. "If you would like."

"I would so like," Stiles said, tightening his grip on Peter’s arm. He looked at the others. "I'm going to go get flogged by my boyfriend now," he told them, before he pulled Peter out of the shop.

The sound of the girls laughing followed them out, and Stiles didn't have to look to know his dude friends were horrified.

* * *

Peter had actually driven his car over to meet them at the shop, and Stiles had to count his blessings because he didn’t think he could have handled the motorcycle roaring between his legs at the moment. But then he found that it was just as maddening to ride in a car with Peter, because the man kept using his shifting hand to touch his knee or draw circles with his finger tips on the inside of his thigh. Stiles though he was genuinely going to die.

When they reached the apartment, Peter didn’t tease, instead just patted Lady Godiva on the head when she ran up to greet them then took Stiles’s hand, leading him to the bedroom. 

“There are many places that you can be flogged,” Peter said, turning toward Stiles and smiling. “Shoulders, back, ass, thighs and calves. The back is probably best for your first time. Large surface area to spread the pain on.” Stiles nodded along, licking his lips, and Peter touched his cheek. “And we’ll save your ass for my hand.”

“Okay,” Stiles said in a rush of breath, feeling himself go warm all over. “Where do you want me?” 

Peter tossed the bag with the new flogger inside onto the bed, before he went to the nightstand. pulling out Stiles’s collar. He looped it around Stiles’s neck as he tipped his head back. “I’m going to tie you to the bed, standing up. I wish I had a cross to tie you to, but I don’t,” he said as he trailed his fingers along the collar.

Stiles nodded. “Okay. Tying with what?”

“Let me go get it.” 

Peter went out of the room, and Stiles had a moment to wonder if he should get dressed to save time. Peter really liked to undress him though, so it was probably best to wait. He fidgeted, feeling antsy and too big for his skin. Would he like to be flogged? He’d never experienced just pain before. He knew he wanted to be spanked. Just the notion of it made him twitch in his pants. It was about giving over control, opening himself up to the sensation of a hand against his ass without being able to predict the strikes. He guessed that was what flogging was about too.

When Peter came back, it was with a set of leather cuffs and a long length of black leather. He walked past Stiles and set them on the bed too, before he turned and gestured for Stiles to come over. Stiles all but leapt into movement, getting to Peter fast and earning a smile for his eagerness.

Peter pulled Stiles’s shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor and thumbing his nipples lightly. Stiles shivered and canted his hips forward as Peter undid his pants and pushed them and his underwear down. Stiles stepped out of them and allowed Peter the lead him. Peter grabbed the cuffs, separating the o-rings that bound them together before putting them on Stiles's wrists.

"Too tight?" Peter asked as he hooked his fingers in the rings and gently tugged. 

"Just right," Stiles found himself saying, and he giggled at his own rhyme.

"Ridiculous," Peter said as he smiled. He led Stiles to the corner of the bed, turning him toward the post. He took the length of leather and in no time had Stiles bound with his arms up, elbows level with his face.

Stiles wrapped his fingers around the post, looking over his shoulder at Peter. He had the flogger in his hand and was running his fingers through the tendrils. The he looped the handle strap under his belt for a temporary hold.

"Let's get you warmed up," Peter said, putting his hands on Stiles’s shoulders and starting to knead the flesh there.

"Oh holy God," Stiles moaned with a shudder. That felt fucking awesome. He knew what Peter was doing, had read about it. In preparation for flogging, the dom gets the blood flowing under the soon to be abused skin by rubbing and massaging it. Relaxed muscles were so much better to flog than tensed ones. He leaned his cheek against the smooth wooden post as Peter's hands moved down, thumbs working on either side of his spine. He found that having the small of his back massaged got him hard in an instant. He hadn't known, because it wasn’t like he'd had a massage before.

When Peter reached his ass, he grabbed each cheek and molded it like clay. He pulled them apart, making Stiles feel wonderfully exposed, before he pressed them together and pulled them up. Stiles had a feeling Peter liked his ass quite a bit.

Peter stopped the kneading with a light pat on his ass, before he stepped back. Stiles looked over his shoulder at him, finding him holding the flogger again. "Eyes forward," Peter said, and Stiles turned his head to lean his forehead against the post.

The first touch was just Peter trailing the tendrils of leather along his back, up and down. At first Stiles shivered and shrank away on reflex. The moment he stopped trying to get away was the first time Peter put any force behind his swings. That initial hit made Stiles gasp and go up on his toes. Peter didn’t strike him again right away, just waited for Stiles to go flat on his feet again.

"What color?" Peter inquired.

Stiles licked his lips as the sting on his back faded and the skin tingled. "Green," he said, forcing himself almost limp.

_Thud!_

Stiles gasped, toes curling in the carpet as he used the pole for support. The hits came fast now, building up to a rhythm. Peter didn’t hit the same place twice in a row. One strike would hit between his shoulder blades, the next in the middle of his back and the last just over his ass. Up and down, over and over.

Stiles could feel himself sagging as the thud and the pain transcended into a warm, pulsing pleasure pain throughout his body. It throbbed with each strike, spreading through his body in shock waves. Now he understood why people loved this. He could just surrender his senses and have Peter set them alight. Pain was pleasure, and pleasure was pain in a way that had his grunts turning to moans and cries.

Stiles wasn’t sure how much time passed, because time stopped having a meaning to him. He felt every hit solidly like a slap to the brain, sharp and solid. He lost count of the strikes eventually and lost the ability to math somewhere there too. The strikes started to wind down, going softer and the time between the strikes increasing until it was one just every now and then.

When the strikes stopped, Stiles was panting softly through parted lips. He closed his eyes and sagged, ready to melt into a puddle once he was released. He didn’t even react when he felt Peter gently lay his hands on his biceps and slide them up to his hands. Peter released one cuff and then the other, catching him when his knees buckled. 

Stiles garbled something as Peter more or less carried him around to the side of the bed. When Peter sat down, he cradled Stiles in his arms like he was something small and breakable. Stiles just planted his face in Peter’s neck and shivered through the lessening sting on his back.

“You did beautifully,” Peter said, leaning in to murmur the words against Stiles’s forehead. “My beautiful boy.” 

Stiles hadn’t quite gained control of speech yet, so he just made a little whining noise into Peter’s neck. 

Peter didn’t seem to mind, just stroked his hand light along Stiles’s back, making him shiver at the shots of stinging the touch caused. “Maybe I should spank you another time. You seem to be experiencing a sensory overload at the moment.”

That made Stiles’s hand clench in Peter’s shirt. “No,” he whispered, pulling his head back to look at Peter’s face. “I want it.” He wanted the sting and the burn and the overwhelming sensation of the pain blurring to pleasure. Maybe he was an endorphin junkie now. He didn’t care. He _needed_ it.

Peter gave him a long look. “I understand,” he said finally, before he leaned in to press their lips together. “But give yourself a moment.” He dragged his hand down Stiles’s side, over his hip and down his thigh. “Tell me what you felt.”

Stiles dragged in a ragged breath. “I can’t describe it,” he said, his lips twisting into a silly grin. “It was awesome. It was like… Everything fell away but what I was feeling. That sounds dumb, doesn’t it?”

“Nothing out of your mouth is dumb,” Peter told him confidently, and Stiles fought not to hide his face again as his cheeks warmed. He took Stiles’s hand and lifted it, kissing his inner wrist. That felt sensitive, probably due to the leather cuff rubbing against it. Stiles mewled at the touch.

Eventually Peter shifted so he could curl one leg on the bed and let the other dangle off where his knee caught the edge. “Turn over for me,” he said, and Stiles did, letting Peter’s hands guide him until his front was laying over Peter’s legs with his butt in the air. He curled his toes in the carpet as Peter’s fingertips trailed down the line of his spine, before they reached his ass. 

Peter massaged him again, and Stiles nuzzled his cheek against the covers, just enjoying the feel of hands on him. His back was barely a dull throb now. Peter hadn’t even broken the skin, he was sure. The flogger, made of soft suede, wasn’t hard enough to leave any welts.

“Color?” Peter asked with the flat of his hand against Stiles’s ass.

“Green,” Stiles replied immediately, before he squeaked as Peter drew his arm back and smacked him across the left ass cheek. 

Spanking was so different from flogging, but Stiles still found himself lost in the way the line between pain and pleasure blurred. As he was struck, he cried out, feeling split open and beautiful like a sparking live wire. He wrapped one arm around Peter’s back, while his other curled under his face, his voice going hoarse as he started to scream.

Finally the pain burst open and became nothing but silver singing pleasure as he was lost in its pure white.

Stiles blinked, feeling floaty and groggy. He was lying on his side with Peter in front of him, stroking his hair and watching his face. “Wuh?” he tried to ask, and his throat was raw from screaming.

“There you are,” Peter said, shifting closer and kissing his forehead. “You went into subspace for about fifteen minutes.”

“Really?” Stiles croaked, before he coughed. He’d read about subspace. It was a kind of like dropping into unconsciousness where all experiences were inward. All sensations became one. It only happened if a sub truly trusted their dom. And Stiles did.

“Really,” Peter responded, pressing their foreheads together. “You’ve been so wonderful today. I suggest we take a nap, and then I’ll make you a late lunch.” 

Stiles shifted closer, kissing him. He meant it to be a simple kiss, but the moment he touched Peter’s lips, he felt a charge burst through his system. He didn’t want to nap, he thought as Peter opened his mouth to the intrusion of Stiles’s tongue. He wanted to do a lot of things, but napping was low on that list.

“Or this is fine,” Peter said against his lips, before he shifted so he was on top of Stiles, between his lazily spread legs. Stiles tugged at his shirt impatiently, and Peter pulled it over his head, tossing it away. He beat Stiles to the front of his pants, undoing them with one hand and fishing his cock out of the access hole in his underwear.

Peter wasn’t hard yet, even as Stiles had gotten hard in a half second like a teenager. Stiles reached down to take Peter in hand, and Peter let him, just holding himself up over Stiles. If Stiles’s body didn’t feel like jelly with a dick, he might have scooted down and taken Peter into his mouth, but right then all he was capable of was stroking him with a tight grip. It worked just fine, because in about a minute, Peter started to swell, and he let out soft little “ah, ah’s” at the attention.

“Here,” Peter said, shifting so their cocks were aligned and knocking Stiles’s hand away so he could wrap his own around both of their dicks, stroking them. When Stiles gasped, Peter leaned down and captured his mouth. 

They kissed and kissed until Stiles’s lips were plump and swollen, and he just wanted to kiss more. He could feel his orgasm roiling in him like bubbling liquid about to boil over. He moaned, putting his head back and biting his lip. He didn’t know if he could keep himself under control when he was pretty much just a bag of bones and pleasure.

“Don’t hold back,” Peter said, apparently sensing his thoughts. “I want to see you come.”

Peter wouldn’t have to wait long, because soon Stiles was trembling as he felt sensation build and build low in him, before it exploded and he arched with a shout. He floated for a little bit, before his eyes fluttered open as he saw Peter above him on his knees, stroking his cock as he stared down at Stiles with a heated expression.

Stiles watched him, lips parted and eyelids lowered almost all the way. He just gazed on as Peter’s movements quickened, fist stripping his cock over and over again. Stiles shifted, stretching out his neck and showing off the collar. “Mark me. Make me yours,” he said, his voice still wrecked.

Peter made a noise that was something like surprise as he came all over his fingers and Stiles’s stomach. He dropped down on one hand, breathing harder, and Stiles all but preened as he watched Peter close his eyes and get a hold on himself. Peter caught his eye and smiled, before he swirled his fingers through the mess on Stiles’s stomach. 

“Let me go get something to clean this up with,” Peter said, and he started to pull away, but Stiles grabbed his arm and pulled him down on top of him. Peter laughed, wiggling a little. “Alright, fine, but we are so both taking a shower after this cuddle session.”

Stiles just chirped in agreement, sighing contently as he closed his eyes. They were totally going to get up, really, just in a little bit. 

They didn’t. 

They both drifted off to sleep and woke up a combination of flaky and sticky. Neither of them complained at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the swift read, [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> The next chapter has a timeskip in it.
> 
> Next update by **9/7/14.**
> 
> Have an awesome Labor Day weekend if you're in a place that observes it! =D If you're not, well you have a good weekend too. I'm sorry you have to work on Monday.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's meet the Hales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> Really early update this time, whee! No sex in this one though. It's more of an interlude.

Two months passed in a flash of heady sex and joy. Peter was just a great guy to be around. With Peter's ever patient assistance, Stiles learned that he could come twenty times in a six hour period. They'd only stopped there because Stiles felt like his dick was going to fall off. When they weren't rolling around in bed, they were just hanging out. They marathoned all of the Lord of the Rings movies at one point, and they were just a pair of chatty nerds the whole time.

Stiles became a regular at the club too, and everyone knew his name. At one point Danny called him Teeth's golden boy. Jackson grumbled that it was only because he was with Peter. Stiles remarked that it was just luck that he had the best dom ever.

"Green for good. Yellow for discuss. Red for stop," Stiles said without prompting as Peter pulled his shirt over his head.

"Good boy," Peter said, tossing his shirt off the stage and onto one of the couches. "Now, one more time, are you sure you want to do this?"

"I'm sure," Stiles said with a smile and without hesitation. He looked over to see Lydia getting Allison ready too, talking to her in a low voice and rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

All four of them were doing a flogging demonstration. There were two Saint Andrew's crosses set up on the stage for Allison and Stiles to be tied to. They had been planning this for a while now, ever since Peter had taught Lydia eight point flogging. Stiles was excited because Peter had yet to use the technique on him. It would be a new experience for both him and Allison.

That was why Peter kept asking if Stiles was sure he wanted to do this in front of a crowd. Eight weeks ago, Stiles would have been horrified at the idea, but now he was excited. He knew these people now, trusted them. Even Jackson for all they sniped back and forth. He wasn't afraid anymore. 

Stiles moved into position at the cross, spreading his legs a bit and laying his arms over the padded planks and watching as Peter wrapped the leather cuffs around his wrists. Then he tilted his head forward a bit as Peter wrapped a blindfold around his eyes. That was something he requested himself. Even though they had an audience, he wanted to be totally in the moment and focus on nothing else but the falls against his back.

"You know I adore you, yes?" Peter murmured into his ear, and Stiles grinned as he nodded.

"Same."

Stiles let his head fall forward as Peter rubbed and kneaded his back, getting the blood circulation going. He listened as Peter put on his performer voice and explained what they would be doing, they type of floggers there were using and how the technique would look like a figure eight. There wouldn't be any pauses between the thuds, and Stiles was excited. 

Peter stepped back, asking Lydia if she was ready, and Lydia said she was. Stiles listened to some rustling, breathing in deep and letting it out. 

The first falls against his back came slow, working him up to it, and Stiles counted them as he stretched out his fingers then balled his hands into fists. It didn't take long before the time between the hits decreased to practically nil. Stiles couldn't help his grunts and gasps, and he could hear Allison making similar sounds.

Stiles let himself get lost in the pain, let himself fly. Soon his noises became unintelligible, part begging and part crying obscenities. He'd never been vocal like this where people other than Peter could hear him. It made him feel like he was floating.

All too soon the hits started to wind down, going softer as the time between them lengthened. At the last brushes against his back, Stiles sobbed and sagged between the planks of the cross, feeling like he'd just ran five miles. Applause sounded around him, and he could only smile. 

He kept his eyes closed even as the blindfold was removed, sure the dim light would assault them. Peter freed his wrist then half carried him off the stage, and soon they were sitting on one of the couches.

"Drink," Peter said, and Stiles cracked his eyes open to see Peter holding up a bottle of water for him. "Slow."

Stiles drank with little baby sips, just like he had trained to do. Drinking fast could cause him to choke or get water in his sinuses. He eventually lifted his hand and took the bottle, moving up to slow gulps until the water was gone and he didn't feel like he was dying of thirst anymore.

Scott and Isaac moved over to the couch across from them, sitting down. "You looked great up there, dude," Scott said, pulling Isaac against his side and running his fingers through his curls.

"Thanks," Stiles said with a smile, voice still a little broken.

He was still getting used to the fact that his best friend was a dom now and that Isaac was his sub. One day Scott had come up to him and told him that Isaac was interested in getting into the lifestyle. Neither of them knew what to do, so Stiles gave them a bunch of links to reading material as well as a link to a kink list they could work through together. He'd given Scott Peter's number and tried to help Isaac out himself where he could. Now he and Isaac were actual friends.

"Ready to make the drive to Beacon Hills tomorrow?" Scott asked, and Stiles groaned unhappily.

"No," he said, because he hated that drive. It was long and his overactive mind got so bored so fast. He wouldn't even have Scott to occupy him, because Scott and Isaac were riding together. 

Peter chuckled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Just think about what you'll be doing when you get there, not the three hour drive."

Well, Stiles was excited for that. Tomorrow marked the beginning of Thanksgiving break, and Stiles was so ready for it. They were going to have their traditional Stilinski-McCall (plus one Lahey) meal and watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving as they descended into food comas. 

But before that, Peter had invited him to his other home, the family home, where he was to meet the rest of the Hales. That scared Stiles shitless. What if they didn't like him? Or worse, what if they criticized his and Peter’s relationship, called it insignificant because he was so young and they were dom and sub? They may have only been together three months, but this was the most serious Stiles had ever been about anyone. Ever. He wasn't going to stand for anyone saying their relationship was anything but what it was.

* * *

It was about 11am when Stiles finally got around to getting into his Jeep and and heading up north. He texted Scott as he started up his car. He was behind Scott for once, since his friend had actually gotten up early. Stiles could just imagine a grumpy Isaac hunkered down in the passenger seat with a frown. Isaac was not a morning person.

He texted Peter too, telling him he just getting on the road and that he’d see him around five that night. It took about ten minutes, and Stiles wasn’t even out of the college town yet, but his phone began to sing with the Jurassic park theme. He blinked at his phone a second, coming to stop at a red light, before he answered and put it on speaker.

“Hello?” He held the phone in his hand against the steering wheel.

“Bored out of your mind yet?” Peter asked by way of greeting.

Stiles smiled, tapping the gas as the light changed to green. “Not just yet, but soon.”

“I’d like to keep you company if I can,” Peter said simply.

“Really?” Stiles asked.

“I already made the drive today, and I’m all alone but for my cat,” Peter said, and there was a soft accompanying meow. “She’s sticking to me like glue because she’s only in this house during the holidays.”

“You’re her security blanket,” Stiles said, charmed beyond belief. 

“Something like that,” Peter agreed, before there was some rustling. “Anyway, I’m willing to talk to you while you drive so you so you don't end up trying adult bumper cars for entertainment."

Stiles laughed high and loud at that. "Nah, I would just pretend I was throwing blue shells and lightning bolts at them."

"Pretend I understood that reference."

Stiles laughed again. "Will do." He couldn't really imagine Peter playing any of the classic party games like Mario Kart or Super Smash brothers. He decided to change the subject. "So what's your family like? The only one you've told me about is Malia."

"Well, I have two nieces and a nephew. The oldest is Laura. She is a lawyer. She got married four years ago and has triplet girls; Maggie, Marie and Miranda, as if I could keep them straight with easier names. They are Small Child 1, 2 and 3 to me. Laura will love you right off the bat, I'm sure. She's very friendly and will tease you like a sibling."

Stiles snorted. "Sounds like fun."

"Derek is next. He owns a classic car repair shop," Peter went on, and Stiles let out a soft whistle. That sounds like a business where you make bank. "He's managed to keep a Camaro that's half his age running perfectly."

"I should show him my sad excuse for a Jeep," Stiles ventured with a snort.

"He'd probably salt and burn it. Some things just can't be helped."

Stiles wasn't sure if that was a Supernatural reference or not.

"And your other niece?" he prompted.

"Cora. Same age as you and Malia. You probably had a class or two with her. She is very reserved but whip smart."

Stiles wracked his brain, trying to remember. Then it came to him. "Wait, did she graduate valedictorian?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Oh my God, it was her! She beat me out for the title by half a GPA point. I had to graduate salutatorian instead." He remembered Cora being particularly unfazed by the whole thing even as Stiles huffed and puffed. He felt a moment of residual annoyance, before he sighed. "What's she up to now?" 

"MMA fighter," Peter answered easily, and _what._ "She has a shot at the title next year."

"Wow. That's an interesting path to take after high school." That reminded him of something. "How did you go from teaching to owning a pair of clubs?"

"Oh, well, before Teeth was what it is, it was a failing hardcore S&M club called Whips and Chains. I bought it and took a gamble on the notion a more generalized BDSM club would have more traffic. It worked, and soon I had people asking to open another location. Thus, Claws was born."

"And now you're rolling in money," Stiles said as he turned onto the freeway that would take him all the way to Beacon Hills.

"I wouldn't say rolling. Too much danger of papercuts. More like leisurely reclining."

Stiles rolled his eyes so hard he could see the back of his skull. He went back to talking about high school, going on a rant about how he and Scott used to prank both their Chemistry teacher, Mr Harris, and their lacrosse coach, Finstock. That got him talking about Scott and, by unavoidable extension, Isaac.

"One time he came to school with a black eye and a cast on his wrist. He said he'd had an accident at work. Scott turned those big puppy dog brown eyes on him, and he just caved. He told us he needed help but didn't know where to start. Melissa, Scott's mom, got his medical records and got in touch with my dad, who is the sheriff—did I tell you that? I probably have. Anyway, Isaac's dad went to prison and Isaac started to live with Scott. They started to date shortly thereafter."

Stiles had been extremely childishly jealous that his best bestest friend was paying attention to someone else. But he had gotten over it. Mostly. But nowadays he and Isaac were friends, especially since Scott and Isaac were in the lifestyle. He could tell Isaac all the things Scott didn't want to hear. They were like bros in submission. It was nice.

They kept talking. Anything was fair game. Stiles almost had to pull over once because he was laughing so hard as Peter told him a story about one time all of the people had decided to go topless with nipple tassels just to fuck with him. Eventually he was pulling into the driveway at his place, and he blinked in surprise.

“I’m home,” Stiles said, before he turned off the Jeep and switched the phone off speaker, putting it to his ear. “Did we really just talk for three hours.”

“We did,” Peter said, sounding pleased. “And for the last hour Lady Godiva’s been asleep in my lap.”

“Wow,” Stiles remarked breathlessly. “Thank you, for keeping me company, I mean.” 

“Of course. Well, don’t keep your father waiting. I’m sure he’s eager to hug the shit out of you. I’ll see you at seven?” 

Stiles felt his cheek hurt from smiling so wide. “Yeah, seven.”

“Call me if you need directions.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye, Stiles.”

* * *

Stiles’s dad was excited to see him. He gave Stiles a bear hug that cracked his back and made him squeak. They ended up talking for hours in the living room. The sheriff wanted to know everything about college life, asked Stiles if he’d been to any wild parties, which he hadn’t, not really. Stiles asked his father all about his work, prodding him about interesting cases, but all that had happened in Beacon Hills since last summer were a few B&Es and a mountain lion sighting.

“Anything new in your love life?” John asked.

Stiles rolled his eyes so hard. “ _Dad._ ”

“Is that a no?” his dad inquired, brow going up.

Stiles fought the urge to stick out his tongue. “Actually, I am seeing someone. His name is Peter.”

John’s face went blank. “Peter what? I need a last name for the background check.”

“No,” was Stiles reply. He smiled anyway.

“Okay, fine, tell me about him. Does he go to your school? How’d you two meet?”

Uh oh. Stiles was pretty sure that his dad didn’t want to know what his and Peter’s relationship was about. “Oh, y’know, at a club.” That wasn’t a lie. “He doesn’t go to my school. He’s, uh, older.”

John narrowed his eyes, and Stiles prepared himself. “How much older? Like twenty-five?”

Stiles let out a nervous laugh. “More like… forty-three.”

To his credit, John didn’t go into cardiac arrest right there. He did tighten his grip on the arms of his cushy chair though. “Stiles.”

“Whaaat?” Stiles whined, going straight into defensive mode. “I’m an adult, Dad. I can date who I want. I really like Peter, and he likes me. He’s really good to me.” His father didn’t seem convinced, so Stiles pulled out his secret weapon. “Scott likes him.”

John blinked, before his body relaxed. “So when do I get to meet him?”

“Uh,” Stiles replied. “I dunno. I’m going to meet his family tonight, and I’m terrified. It’s the holidays though, so he’s busy. I don’t know if—”

“Invite him over for the last day of Christmas break, after everything is done with.” 

Stiles shut his mouth with a click, snorting. “Fine, but no promises.”

* * *

Okay, so, the Hale house? Huge. Stiles pulled up to Peter’s car, a sleek black Camaro, a baby blue Prius and a white minivan and just stared up at the structure in awe. The house was two stories, high painted off white with orange and red ivy climbing the front. It was practically a mansion. 

He climbed out of his car and headed up to the door, taking the steps two at a time. He hesitated a bit, wondering if he should knock or ring the doorbell or both. His brain hit a tail wind on that one, and he realized how anxious he was. Given the size of the place, a knock might not be heard, so he went with ringing the bell as his brain banged around in his head like a trapped animal.

Peter answered, wearing a soft looking sweater, dark jeans and dark orange socks. Stiles was unable to find that ridiculous because Peter was giving him an easy smile and pulling him into a hug. Stiles smiled against his shoulder, looping his arms around his middle and just soaking in his body heat. 

“I’m glad you came,” Peter said against his ear, the touch of his breath making him shiver. 

Uh oh, wouldn’t do to chub up when he was about to meet the family. Stiles decided to think about elderly nudist synchronized swimming to stave off arousal.

“Lady Godiva is hiding from the triplets, so you probably won’t see her tonight.” Peter turned, resting his hand on Stiles’s lower back and leading him into the living. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Stiles,” he said, and several heads turned his way. “Stiles, these are the Hales.”

“When you said he was young,” came the voice of a woman with an undercut and sleeves tattoos. “You didn’t say you were robbing the cradle. How old are you?”

Stiles had just come to expect that question from people he met. “21.”

The woman pulled her lips to the side and gave Peter a bland look. “Dad.”

“Did I say a word when you dated your accountant?” Peter countered.

The woman rolled her brown eyes up high. “No,” she admitted begrudgingly, before she stood up and walked over to offer her hand to Stiles. “I’m Malia.”

“Nice to meet you,” Stiles said, shaking her hand. “I listened to some of your songs. You’re kinda a total badass, I’m not even going to lie.”

That put a pleased as punch grin on Malia’s face. “Why thank you,” she said, before she looped her arm through Stiles’s and pulled him away from Peter. “Stealing your babe a moment, Pops.”

“Don’t break him,” Peter said after them.

“This is Cora,” Malia said, leading him over to the couch. Cora hadn’t changed much, though her long dark hair was now a pixie cut and she had ladders of silver rings up the shells of her ears. She arms also looked like anacondas as she played on her phone. “Cora say hi.”

“Hi,” Cora said without looking up from her phone, which made Malia let out an irritated sigh. 

“It’s okay,” Stiles said. “We’ve met.”

Cora’s bright eyes turned up then, and she blinked. “Hey look, it’s the sheriff’s kid.” She smiled. “And the salutatorian.” She smiled wider as Stiles made a face at her. Cora lowered her phone. “I wouldn’t feel too bad. You probably would have ranked higher than me, but Harris thought you were a little snot and didn’t give you the extra credit assignments he gave me.” 

“That—he—are you serious?” It all made sense now. He honestly wasn’t surprised that Harris had tried to sabotage him. Succeeded too.

“Moving on from that awkwardness,” Malia said, dragging him away and around the coffee table to a bored looking man and his equally bored looking black lady friend. “This is Derek, Cora’s big brother and my lame cousin,” Malia said, and Derek narrowed his green eyes at her. “And this is Braeden, his badass girlfriend. How he landed this relationship, no one will ever know.”

“I don’t know about you, but I think restoring classic cars is pretty badass,” Stiles said, and Derek blinked at him before he lips lifted at the corner. He looked at Braeden. “I don’t know what you do. Is it cool?”

“It’s the kind of job where I get to say ‘it’s classified’ a lot,” Braeden said with a cocky smile.

Oh, Stiles liked her.

It was then that three little girls, probably around four years old, came sprinting into the room, black pigtails bobbing. They were wearing matching overalls in lavender, pale green and baby duck yellow. They dashed around the couches for a second before they converged in a semicircle around him, staring up at him like baby predators around fresh meat.

“Who’re you?” Green asked, blinking dark brown, almost black eyes up at him.

“We don’t know you,” Yellow said, and she had green eyes like Derek and Cora.

“What’s your name?” Lavender chipped in, blinking eyes as blue as Peter’s.

“Uh, I’m Stiles,” he told them, feeling very criticized. 

"Stiles," the girls said at the same time, and didn't that just make Stiles want to retreat?

He looked around and found everyone watching them with amusement on their faces, even Peter. Rather, especially Peter.

"Girls, don't bother the guest," said a woman as she came into the room carrying a large tray of appetizers like chips and dip, cheese cubes and sausage slices. She set them down, putting herself between them and the girls, before she offered her hand to Stilea. "I'm Laura, the oldest sibling."

"Nice to meet you," Stiles said, taking her hand and giving it a shake.

"Peter has told us quite a bit about you," Laura informed him as she scooped up all three toddlers and carried them, whining and complaining, to the empty loveseat.

"Really?" Stiles asked, taking the opportunity to move over to where Peter had sat, plopping down next to him.

"He never shuts up about you," Cora said as she and Malia leaned over her phone, clearly engrossed in something.

"You'd think you were a previously undiscovered species of dinosaur," Derek chipped in, lacing his fingers with Braeden's.

As Stiles grinned, Peter huffed. "Flagrant exaggeration." 

Stiles leaned in and kissed his cheek, causing the little girls to let out disgusted exclamations. He just smiled at them. "You just wait until you're old enough to have boyfriends or girlfriends. You'll want to kiss them all the time too."

"Nuh uh!" Lavender said.

Later during dinner, Stiles learned that Lavender was Miranda. Green was Maggie. And Yellow was Marie. Their father, Stephen, showed up partway through dinner, and all the girls wanted to sit in his lap. 

They all talked about everything. Cora wanted to know when Malia's next tour was and if she'd written any new songs. The next tour wasn't planned yet, but she had written a couple new songs that were going to be on the next CD.

Derek asked Cora if she had any matches lined up, and Cora happily went on and on about her schedule for the next six months. Her manager was trying to convince her to go up a weight class, but she liked where she was at.

Laura asked if Derek was working on anything exciting, and he told them that a rather eccentric client of his had him restoring a 1967 Chevy Impala. 

"Apparently the model is used on some show he watches. I don't know. The money's good," Derek said.

Stiles fought not to pee himself.

Peter asked if Laura and Stephen were up to anything. Apparently they worked at the same law firm. Laura was a prosecutor, and Stephen was a defense attorney. Luckily they worked in different fields, because it would have been awful if they had to face each other.

"The girls start preschool in August," Stephen said, petting Marie's hair as the little girl ate sauceless cheese ravioli with her fingers.

"We're excited and yet terrified," Laura said, looking at her daughters with concern written across her face. "We're having trouble with the idea of letting go of our babies."

"Stiles is going to be an elementary teacher," Peter said lightly, and Laura turned her head toward him. "Maybe he can tell you what you can expect."

Stiles felt a bit put on the spot when Laura and Stephen looked at him, but this was actually covered in his child development classes. "Uh, well, preschool is more about socialization than lessons. Kids are taught to share with others, to be nice to people that aren't family. Aside from that, they learn really simple math like 2+2 and what sound letters make. Also there's tons of finger painting."

Laura seemed to visibly relax, her shoulders sagging a bit. "That doesn't sound too bad."

After dinner, it was time for Stiles to leave. The girls seemed to have warmed up to him, because they all huddled around his legs, saying they wanted him to stay, until Stephen rounded them up and herded them upstairs for their bath. He was already attached to the little munchkins, but then again he loved kids.

"We'll see you sometime around Christmas, right?" Laura asked as she hugged him.

"Sure thing," he promised.

Malia ruffled his hair and told him to stay awesome, before she went to the living room where there was a movie being set up. Peter took his hand and led him outside, walking all the way to the Jeep with their fingers laced together. It was nice, and Stiles let himself enjoy it. The air was cool enough to warrant his hoodie, but not quite so that he could get away with huddling against Peter for warmth. Pity.

They stopped at the driver's side door of the Jeep, and Stiles turned to lean against it, pulling one of Peter's hands between both of his.

"I'm glad you came tonight," Peter said, edging closer and pressing his forehead against Stiles's.

"Me too," Stiles replied, voice soft since Peter was so close. "I like your family. And they don't seem to despise me."

"No. They adore you. And I only got called a cradle robber once. That says a lot." Peter shrugged. It was a win.

"My dad wants to meet you too," Stiles said, reveling in the closeness.

"Oh?" Peter asked, his breath fanning out over Stiles’s cheek. 

"Last day of Christmas break. 9th of January? Is that okay?" He actually wasn't sure how much time Peter spent in Beacon Hills in the winter time.

"That's not a problem. I'm looking forward to it," Peter replied, smiling against Stiles's skin.

Stiles turned his head and their lips touched, a soft, gentle thing and grew slowly into something hot and heavy. He moaned into Peter’s mouth, arching his body against Peter’s front as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders. 

"Careful," Peter said as he drew back from the kiss. "Wouldn't want to get all worked up with you about to leave."

Stiles dragged his bottom lip through his teeth. "You shouldn't kiss me like that then," he countered.

Peter smiled and leaned in to put his lips right against Stiles's ear. "Too bad I can't drop to my knees right here and take your cock in my mouth. I would unravel you like a pulled thread."

Stiles let out a sharp breath, swallowing. "Not fair," he said in a hiss.

"When did I ever say I play fair?" Peter asked, and Stiles could only whimper in response. "I want you to think about me when you jerk off tonight." He ran the very tip of his tongue along the shell of Stiles's ear, and Stiles wanted to _die_. "Promise me."

"I promise," Stiles gasped, before he whined as Peter pulled away. 

"Better hurry home, sweet thing." Peter told him with a smile, before he turned and walked away, leaving Stiles breathing hard in too tight pants.

Stiles managed not to get a speeding ticket on the way home, mostly because he didn't want to explain to his father that he was driving so fast because his boyfriend gave him a hard on and he needed to take care of it ASAP. When he got home, he saw his dad hunkered down in his recliner, watching what sounded like an episode of SVU.

“Hey, kiddo, how was it?” his dad asked, leaning so he could see around the TV.

“Great, gonna go shower,” he blurted out as he raced up the stairs to his bedroom. He barely got the door shut before he was opening up his pants and pulling out his hard cock. He leaned back against the door, knowing it wouldn’t take long, not with the mental image of Peter on his knees taking him apart with his mouth in his head. 

The noise he made when he came was a squeal, and he managed not to be too loud. His dad tended to crank up the volume like he was deaf anyway, so it was all good. He looked down at himself, his fly open, his softening dick and spunk all over his hand and hem of his shirt. Now he really did need a shower.

* * *

Stiles awoke on Thanksgiving day when a full body landed on top of him. He ‘oof!’ed and struggled his way out of his blankets to find a grinning Scott on top of him. “Ugh, five more minutes,” he complained because the light from the window was way too bright. The covers were just jerked off of him, and he curled into a little ball in misery.

“No more minutes, Stiles. Your dad says if you don’t come down and start peeling potatoes with us, you don’t get any pie,” Scott told him.

Stiles groaned and rolled over, knowing his dad wouldn’t actually deny him pie. He wasn’t a total monster. He heard the sound of a shutter and looked over to see Isaac with his phone’s camera pointed in his direction. “What are you doing?”

“If you don’t get up now, I’m going to send this to Peter. I’m sure he’d love to see your cowlick and the top of your ass crack showing in your Superman briefs,” Isaac said with an evil smile.

“Noooo!” Stiles said as he flailed around to get to the other side of the bed and fling himself at Isaac. “Don’t you dare!” Peter didn’t even know he had superhero underwear. He wasn’t ashamed at all, and Peter knew he was a dork, but there was just some things you saved for the sixth month marker of the relationship. 

Once he was wearing more clothes and had tamed his hair, he went downstairs where the smell of slow cooking turkey was filling the space. He all but skipped into the kitchen, where he was handed a potato peeler right off the bat. That was okay though, because he was the master of spuds. He and Isaac got into an giggling, elbow bumping competition at the kitchen island, making peeling potatoes a near deadly affair. Eventually Scott came over and traded with Isaac, putting him on snapping green bean duty instead.

Once they got the sides done, Scott and Isaac manage to get out of dessert duty by slipping out of the kitchen and cuddling on the couch. Stiles’s dad was immovable in his recliner, remote in one hand and beer in the other. That was fine. He was terrible in the kitchen but for taste testing.

“So I hear that you have an older boyfriend,” Melissa said as she latticed two pies, one cherry and one blueberry. The pumpkin pie was already cooling.

Stiles let out a weird little laugh as he peeled yams and cut them up. “Yeah, I do.” He covered the yams in brown sugar then mini marshmallows before popping it in the oven with the pies. “He’s pretty great.”

“Does he take you on extravagant dates and shower you with expensive gifts?” she asked, turning and leaning her hip against the counter. 

“Nah,” Stiles said, smiling. “If we eat dinner together, he cooks. And it’s really nice. He doesn’t buy me things. He could if he wanted to, could probably replace my whole wardrobe and fund my schooling, but I’m not comfortable with that and he respects me enough not to try.”

“He sounds nice.” Melissa smile, soft and sweet and so motherly like she was watching her chick flying for the first time.

“He is.”

The food was ready around four in the afternoon, and everyone was ravenous. There had been plenty of snacking throughout the day, but no one had had a taste of the turkey because Melissa had guarded it like a minotaur. She didn’t even let John carve it, and John looked like he wasn’t about to argue when she was holding that knife. He tried asking for a bit of dark meat though, and she just gave him a look before serving him breast meat.

Nobody spoke much as they ate beyond “Can you hand me the butter?” and “Toss me a roll, dude.” They were all too busy stuffing their faces and stretching their stomachs three times the regular sizes. Stiles probably ate his weight in potatoes alone, and he regretted nothing. Eventually everyone’s chewing slowed to a crawl, and they had to force themselves through pie. Stiles had gotten out of bed for this pie, so he was going to eat it, dammit.

Scott and Isaac were in charge of putting up the leftovers, and Stiles claimed all of the couch as they did that. He pawed at his phone on the coffee table—no phones allowed while eating—and brought up Peter’s contact info. **Hey, Happy Thanksgiving. I ate so much I’m going to be fat. Hope you’ll still like me.**

It took a minute, but Peter replied with, **We are in the same boat. Laura makes a fantastic chocolate pie. Happy Thanksgiving to you too.**

 **I’m already looking forward to leftovers,** Stiles sent back.

 **Want to know the best part of today?** Peter asked.

 **Stuffing your face like a caveman and no one can judge you because they’re doing the same thing?** Stiles suggested, smiling to himself.

 **Not quite,** Peter replied. **It would definitely have to be the picture of you in bed with your Superman undies. You are adorable.**

It wasn’t a slow building of rage that filled him. It was more like a rush that had him screaming at the top of his lungs, “Isaac, I will kill you!”

Isaac’s high laughter flowed out from the kitchen. Yeah, he knew what he had done . That asshole.

 **Soooo delete that?** Stiles tried.

 **It’s my phone background now.** There was something frighteningly smug about that.

Stiles groaned and just laid his phone on his face. He’d deal with this after his food coma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reading, [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> Next time: Christmas!
> 
> Next update by **9/14/14**.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the holidays come to an end with a bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> Early early update. It would have been done earlier if I weren't a total sloth and just slept the whole thing away.

Winter finals were a blast. Ha, not. Stiles was so happy to be done with those and on another nice long break from school. He was eager to go back to Beacon Hills and see his dad. He wanted to eat tons of food and veg out in front of the TV. He wanted to watch _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ for the millionth time.

But most of all he was eager to spend an evening with both Peter and his father. He knew that his dad would love Peter once he got to know him. Everyone loved Peter. He was also eager to see Peter in a Christmas sweater, the one with a tree that Peter had hinted at. Stiles was going to take a picture so they'd be even.

On the day before Christmas Eve, Stiles drove over to the Hale house. He had a present for Peter, one he was sure he would love. It may have been a bit silly, but it was perfect for the man. He was eager to see Peter’s reaction to it. 

When Stiles rang the bell, he heard little scampering feet race to the door. When it opened, the triplets were there, looking adorable in matching dresses—one red, one green and one silver—and their hair done up in braids. Stiles couldn't tell them apart for the life of him.

"Hey, girls," he said.

They all blinked up at him. "Stiles," they said in unison as if they were mimicking The Shining.

Thankfully Derek came up then, wearing a sweater with thumb holes, and wasn't that just too cute for words. "Okay, munchkins, stop bothering Stiles," he said, hoisting Silver up onto his hip. Red and Green latched onto his legs, so he had to do a funny walk to avoid falling over. "Peter's in the living room," he said, as he walked off with his nieces giggling as they hung from him.

Peter was in the living room, crouching in front of the fireplace and starting up a fire. From the back, Stiles could see his sweater was deep pine green, and it looked touchably soft. Peter stood and turned, smiling when he saw Stiles there, and Stiles had to grin back. There was a tree on that sweater. It was lined in silver and had red orbs as ornaments. How Peter pulled that off, no one would know.

"Hello, Stiles," he said, moving over so they could kiss.

"Hi," Stiles said when they parted. He lifted up the small box wrapped in cartoon dinosaur paper. "Merry Christmas," he said.

Peter smiled and took it, meticulously pulling the tape from the paper and managing to remove it from the box whole. Stiles was not surprised. Peter let out a soft gasp as he turned the box and found out exactly what he got. "Oh my goodness," he said very softly, before his face split into a grin.

It was a green silicone tea infuser shaped like a T-Rex. Get it? Tea-Rex. Stiles had laughed for a full minute when he found it.

"This is fantastic," Peter said, pulling Stiles against his side as he turned the box around and read the information. "You win ‘Best Gift’."

Stiles giggled, pressing his face into Peter's shoulder. "You really like it that much?"

"I do," Peter said, kissing his hair gently. "I can't wait to use it." He rubbed his free hand up Stiles’s back. "Oh, I got something for you too." He drew away, going to the adorable and haphazardly decorated Christmas tree and picked up a silver wrapped present, handing it over.

Stiles, being ever impatient that he was, tore into the gift like a monster. Inside was a simple looking shirt box. He lifted the lid and then forgot all rational thinking. Inside was a Captain America leather jacket, deep blue with the silver star and stripes like he had worn as an Agent of SHIELD. Stiles traced his fingers over the star.

"Oh my God," he murmured, before he just started to repeat it like a broken record. Then, he just let out a high pitched squealing sound that would have wounded the ears of canines. "This... This is..." He didn’t know how to express himself.

"I figured everyone needs a good leather jacket, especially when you ride on the back of _my bike_ so much," Peter said, smiling with well placed smugness. "I can't take all the credit though. Scott was instrumental in helping me with the design." Peter stepped closer, picking the jacket up out of the box. "Let's see how it fits."

Stiles set the box and the wrapping paper on the coffee table and took off his hoodie. He turned and Peter slid the jacket up his arms. It fit like a glove. Peter turned him around and zipped up the front, before he laid the panel over the middle.

"Looks good on you," Peter said, rubbing his fingers down the front of Stiles' s chest. "Of course."

Stiles grinned at that, flexing his chest inside the leather. He felt heroic, daring, and hot. That was a new sensation for him. 

Then it hit him. He looked down, taking in the craftsmanship and the quality of the leather. "Oh my God, this probably cost a million dollars, didn't it?"

Peter let out a bark of a laugh. "The money doesn't matter. It's a gift. I refuse to take it back. Don't even try."

Stiles stared at him a long moment, before just hugging him. “Thank you,” he murmured into Peter’s neck. “For everything.”

Peter’s arms came around Stiles, and his lips found his ear. “You deserve it.”

The leather of the jacket squeaked when Stiles squeezed Peter tighter, and they both withdrew with a bit of laughter.

“Oh, Stiles,” came Laura’s voice, and Stiles looked over to see her standing in the dining room archway. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted you to have something.” She disappeared back through the archway. Stiles looked at Peter curiously, and Peter gave him a conspirator’s smile. Laura emerged with a big plastic container, shoving it Stiles’s arms.

“Uh,” Stiles said as he looked through the lid and spied a mountain of treats.

“I made sugar cookies and the girls decorated them for you. They’re a bit of a mess, but they still taste good. You also have some pumpkin spice cookies, gingerbread cookies, shortbread cookies, and, oh, peanut butter cookies.” She grinned. “I went on a cooking spree.” She did jazz hands.

“Thanks, Laura,” Stiles said, grinning. “My dad and I will love these.”

“Sure, sure, no problem,” she said, patting the top of the box. “What are you doing for New Year’s? We always have a barbeque and act like total idiots with roman candles. You should bring your dad.”

Stiles snickered. “I would, but my dad always works on New Year’s since he’s sheriff and holidays bring out the crazies. He was lucky to get Christmas off.” 

“That’s okay,” Laura said, shrugging. “Now that you’re part of the family, we’ll meet your dad someday. You’ll come though, right? Eat your weight in hotdogs?”

Smiling hugely, Stiles nodded his head. “Wouldn’t miss it.” 

“Great.” Laura leaned in and kissed his forehead like such a mom, before she hurried back into the kitchen.

Stiles couldn’t wipe his forehead while holding the box, so he turned toward Peter. “Is there lipstick on my forehead?”

Peter rubbed his palm against Stiles forehead. “Not anymore.”

“Thanks.” Stiles sighed happily. “So, I’m part of the family now?”

“My condolences,” Peter said with a sweet smile.

Stiles just laughed, feeling warmth bloom through his body. When he got home he realized he'd been so distracted that he'd missed the opportunity to take a picture of Peter in his festive sweater.

* * *

Christmas was much like Thanksgiving. Scott came in at ass o'clock in the morning to jump around on his bed, shouting about "Presents! Get up, dude, presents!" Stiles wanted to swat him like a fly.

At least Isaac wasn't a morning person either. He was huddled up on the couch in a thick blanket, eyes barely open and cup of hot cocoa in his hands. He mumbled a good morning, but he was not going to move.

Stiles helped an excited-as-a-tiny-puppy Scott hand out the gifts, before they tore into them like wolves. The most notable of their gifts was Melissa's new blue scrubs that were covered in Tardises and sonic screwdrivers. John got a football jersey, and he put it on right then. Stiles got the new Pokémon game and squealed embarrassingly. Scott got the whole original trilogy of Star Wars, which he laughed over. Isaac got the softest scarf in existence. 

After they cleaned up the torn wrapping paper, they started on Christmas lunch. This was the only day of the year Stiles let his dad have ham, and only a bit. Melissa swore to take the leftover ham home and keep it safe from sheriffs with bad cholesterol. 

After everyone had lounged around like sloths post feasting, Stiles said goodbye to Melissa, Scott and Isaac. John was already passed out in his chair, so Stiles headed up to his room to flop onto his bed with a heavy, content sigh.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and sent off a text to Peter, **Merry Christmas. Have a good one? Tell me all the awesome presents you got.**

It didn't take Peter but a minute to reply. **Merry Christmas to you too. My day was nice. I got a new tea kettle from Laura and Stephen, a collection of Shakespearean sonnets from Derek, a documentary on Megalodon from Cora, a stunning geode from Malia and a hand drawn Dino card from the triplets. I’m putting that on my fridge when I get home. How did you make out?**

 **Like a bandit,** Stiles sent back, smiling against his covers. His feet were hanging off the side of the bed, but he was too lazy to move. **Got a gift card to Barnes & Noble from Scott’s mom, a video game from Scott and Isaac, and money and socks from my dad. He’s not a shopper.** That was okay, because Stiles loved his dad so much. **Don’t tell anyone, but I like your gift the most.**

**We’re in the same boat there. I’ve been using the tea infuser since you gave it to me. It’s my new favorite thing in the world.**

Stiles bit his lip, turning on his side and huddling in on himself around his phone. It was like a summer field of daisies was blooming in his tummy. He was so pleased that Peter liked his gift.

 **What do you plan to do with the rest of your night?** Peter asked.

Stiles wormed his way up the bed so his head was on the pillows. **Sleep,** he told him honestly, because his belly was full of food, and he wanted to go into sloth mode. 

**That sounds like a plan. Good night, Stiles.**

Stiles rolled up in his covers like a burrito, fully ready to pass out. But then he got another text. He opened it up and found a picture of a fondly exasperated Peter with Lady Godiva lying on his head and licking his hair. **Grooming session,** the caption read, and Stiles laughed so hard he got the hiccups.

* * *

Stiles was beyond excited for New Year’s. Peter had told him that most fireworks weren’t allowed in the preserve because they were surrounded by trees, so he bought ten packs of snakes and a butt ton of sparklers. When he pulled up to the house, he grabbed his paperbag of goodies and headed around back where Peter said everyone would be.

The first thing he saw was the girls, tiny monsters in matching purple, green and yellow outfits. They were running around and screaming, racing from one side of the yard to the other. The adults were gathered around the deck where Stephen and Derek were manning the grill. The ladies were chatting amongst themselves, and Peter was reclining in a plush looking papasan chair with a beer in his hand.

The girls noticed him first. "Stiles!" they all called in sync—still creepy—and charged over. 

"What have you got?" Purple asked, pawing at Stiles' s bag before he pulled it out of her reach.

"Is that for us?" Yellow pleaded, trying to climb him.

"It might be," Stiles replied, holding the bag over his head.

"What is it? What is it?" Green demanded.

"Girls!" Laura called from the deck. "Stop bothering Stiles. Weren't you trying to see who is fastest?"

"I am!" Green announced, before her sisters immediately started to argue with her.

Stiles shuffled around them, heading to the deck. "Hey," he said by way of greeting, and everyone did the same back.

Peter got up out of the papasan, somehow managing to do that with flailing about like a dork. "Hello, Stiles," he said putting one arm around Stiles’s waist and pressing their lips together. He tasted like beer, but not in a bad way.

"Hey," Stiles said, melting against Peter's front.

"I hope you like ribs." Peter took a swig of his beer.

"Uh, duh," Stiles replied with a chuckle. "It should be illegal not to."

"Good. We tend to get messy."

Stiles found he wasn't kidding. The delicious ribs were slathered in sauce and perfectly cooked. Everyone got sauce all over themselves, besides the girls who had mini corndogs instead. 

Stiles was pretty sure he got sauce in his eyelashes, but it was so tasty he couldn't stop eating. He started giggling uncontrollably when Peter got some on his nose, and he continued to laugh when Peter took it upon himself to wipe at Stiles’s cheeks. Stiles just let himself be groomed, not caring that the others were laughing to.

When Braeden pointed out that Derek had some sauce in his beard, he leaned over and rubbed his face against her, causing her to squawk.

After the ribs were demolished, the sun was setting, so Stephen and Laura went around setting tiki torches. Stiles grabbed his bag and sat down on the concrete slab at the base of the steps of the deck. The girls swarmed around him immediately, looking greedy. 

"These are snakes," he said, opening on of the small boxes and digging out one of the pellets, getting his fingers covered in black dust in the process. "When you light them, they grow." He set the pellet down and lit it with the mini lighter he'd bought.

The girls screeched with joy as the pellet expanded and twisted around like a snake. He lit another, and they clapped with joy. Then he started to light multiples at once, two then three and finally eight at once until he had a hydra-esque monstrosity. 

Then, he pulled out the sparklers. He ran around yelling with one in each hand as the girls chased after him. Cora and Malia got in on that, twirling around and writing their names in the air. Stiles gave everyone else a sparkler too, but they just stood there as they burned down. Derek put his arm around Braeden, and they murmured to each other as they crossed their sparklers. Stephen kissed Laura’s cheek, and she smiled at something he said. Peter’s eyes looked like they were glowing.

Malia came over with her sparkler, and they play dueled for a minute, before Malia grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him close. "You know," she said, her voice low. "He hasn't brought someone home to meet the family since my mom."

Stiles stared at her in surprise. "Really?"

"He'll tell us about people he's with in a way that would make us shut up about it. Like telling us so and so likes to be spanked or that so and so has her nipples pierced. But with you, he said something like 'His name is Stiles. I invited him over for dinner. You'll love him.' And we were all too shocked to ask for details."

Stiles blinked rapidly, before he looked over where Peter was reclining, looking pleased and a bit drunk. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh." Malia nudged his shoulder, smiling before she moved off.

Stiles watched his sparkler burn down and couldn't quite keep the smile off his face.

The first boom of the fireworks in town sounded, an orange-white ball lifting over the trees and exploding. The triplets cheered, while everyone got situated to watch. Stiles ended up curled up mostly on Peter in the papasan chair, his legs thrown over Peter's and curled up under Peter's arm.

Around nine, the triplets were ushered inside to bed. They complained, even though they looked beat. By ten, Stiles had had four beers and was feeling floaty. At eleven, Stiles was wondering if he could just start making out with Peter. No one would mind, right?

"10, 9, 8..."

Peter caught him at the cheek and pulled him close. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Stiles smiled, big and stupid. “Nowhere I’d rather be.”

“3, 2, 1! Happy New Year!”

Peter and Stiles pressed their lips together, and Stiles felt like gooey, butterfly-filled happiness. They drew back as a munition house’s worth of fireworks exploded in the air. Stephen and Laura were still kissing, and Derek and Braeden had their foreheads together. It looked like Cora and Malia were having a wine chugging contest, and they were not going to be happy in the morning if they did polish off those bottles.

An hour later, people started filtering into the house, looking tipsy and tired. Stiles could relate. “I should head home,” he said, as he made no move to unglue himself from Peter’s front. 

“You’re not going anywhere in that condition,” Peter said, managing to get them both out of the chair without falling down. “Stay the night.”

Stiles wobbled. “Okay, but I don’t feel comfortable doing anything with so many people in the house.”

Peter laughed, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t do that in my sister’s house.” 

Sister?

“Come on.” Peter led him inside and up the stairs, where they shrugged out of their clothes and cuddled until they fell asleep.

* * *

Winter break was nearing its end. Tomorrow was the day Peter was supposed to come over and meet his dad, so obviously it was time to go out and do some pre-celebratory dancing. Stiles , Scott and Isaac went to the Jungle to rejoice in the eventuality that John would love Peter to pieces and all would be well.

Scott and Isaac danced together, leaving Stiles to freestyle his way into surrounding people a few times, but that was okay. After an hour or so of that, Stiles maneuvered his way to the bar. 

“Bottle of water, please,” he told the bartender as he dug through his wallet for a few dollar bills. 

“Hey,” came a voice beside him, and he looked over to find a guy holding out a drink to him. “Got this for you.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, blinking at it. “Well, I appreciate it, but I’m not single.”

The guy only hesitated a second before setting the drink down. “Well, it was worth a shot. Take the drink anyway. No strings.”

“Oh, thanks.” Stiles grinned at the guy, who nodded and turned away. Stiles had said he wasn’t going to drink because he was driving, but one drink wouldn’t hurt him much. Besides, despite the swing and a miss that he’d taken, that guy was pretty cool.

The next thing Stiles knew, he was opening his eyes and blinking at bright fluorescent lighting. 

What? 

He looked over to his side and spotted Peter reading in a chair, one leg crossed over the other while his foot swayed back and forth in the air.

“Wuh?” was Stiles’s deeply incoherent question.

Peter looked over. “Oh, there you are,” he said, closing his book and moving over to bed, sitting next to Stiles and taking his hand. “How do you feel?”

Stiles just kind of grunted and rubbed at his eyes. “Like I had ten million drinks. I only remember having one.” He looked around slowly and squinted at his surrounding. “Wait. Where am I?” He looked up at Peter, “Why are you here?”

“Beacon Hills Memorial,” Peter said, rubbing his thumb over Stiles’s knuckles. “Scott called me.” 

“Did I get alcohol poisoning or something?” he asked, pushing up onto his elbow and feeling a wave of dizziness knock him right back down. “Ooooh shit, somebody gave me the good stuff.” He blinked as Peter gave him a serious look, and it hit him. That was why he felt this way, not because he’d fallen into a spiked punch bowl. “Wait, did that guy drug me?”

“Yes,” Peter said, solemnly. “Rohypnol.” 

Stiles felt everything go cold, and his entire body seized up in terror. “The date rape drug? Did-did he—?”

“No,” Peter said, cutting off that thought like a knife. “No. He didn’t. Scott made sure that didn’t happen.”

Stiles was never so relieved in his life. He sagged and let out a long, heavy sigh. “God, I’m so stupid. All the time at school, they’re telling us not to take drinks from strangers. And what do I go and do?”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Peter told him firmly, giving him a look. “You’re not responsible for some asshole’s actions.”

Stiles lowered his eyes, and Peter squeezed his hand, so he looked back up again. “But he might do it again.”

The smile Peter gave him was cold. “No, he won’t.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, gazing at Peter a long moment. “What did you do?” 

“Me?” Peter asked, touching his chest with his free hand. “Nothing.” He laid that hand over the back of Stiles’s. “Scott beat him senseless though. He has been apprehended by the police and is awaiting sentencing.” Peter laced their fingers together, looking a bit smug all of the sudden. “If you would like to ruin his life, you are free to use my lawyer. Don’t worry about the fee. Or the hospital bills for that matter.”

“I can’t do that,” Stiles said, because it was just too much.

“Consider it a fair trade. You almost gave me a heart attack.” Peter reached over and ran his fingers through Stiles’s short hair, and Stiles leaned into the touch. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Stiles smiled, feeling warm and safe with Peter there. He was glad that Scott had the foresight to call him, because he would have been freaking out if he woke up alone and put everything together.

"Scott wasn't sure if what you'd been drugged with would have a reaction with your Adderall, so he brought you here and you've been under observation," Peter explained, still moving his fingers through Stiles’s hair.

"How long have I been here?" It was dark outside, and that told him nothing.

"Almost nine hours."

"Jesus. Must be nearly dawn then." Stiles found the bed remote and moved the head rest so he was almost in a sitting position. "How long have you been here?"

"About the same."

Stiles just stared at him. "You serious?"

"I did a lot of pacing and fretting at first, but when they informed me you were safely sleeping, I bought a book in the gift shop and sat down to wait." Peter just gave him a look like it was what anyone would have done.

The thing was, though, it wasn't.

Around six in the morning, Scott showed up with one of his hands all bandaged up. He all but leapt onto the bed with Stiles, hugging him tight. "Dude, you're alright! You were incoherent and stumbling around when I brought you in."

Stiles laughed, patting Scott’s back. "I'm fine. I hear you fought for my honor." He gingerly picked up Scott’s hand.

Scott flexed his fingers for him. "Yeah, I beat that guy up. He was trying to lead you out, and I just knew you wouldn't have wanted to go with him."

"My hero," Stiles said with a dramatic sniff.

Peter went and got kolaches and doughnuts for them all, and as they were eating they talked and out building a case against the man that meant to assault Stiles. It would probably be easy since Stiles had had the drug in his system and Scott had witnessed him hobbling around. Peter said his attorney could easily work with that.

Then Stiles’s dad showed up, looking exhausted. "Hey, kiddo," he said, ruffling Stiles's hair when he got close enough. 

"Hey, pops, you look like you just worked a double." Stiles offered him a kolache. 

John took it and ate it in two bites. "That's because I did. I got some info about the guy who drugged you though." That made Stiles sit up more as his dad sat on the corner of the bed. "He had more pills on him, so any charges you press will stick."

"Peter wants to loan me his attorney for this," Stiles said, holding out his hand to the man.

Peter stepped closer, having retreated a little when John came in, and caught Stiles's hand. "It's the least I can do. I wouldn't want him to be back out on the streets so soon after what he did, what he tried to do."

"He will go away for a long time if your lawyer is good enough. Are they?" John asked, giving Peter the Eye.

Peter didn't look fazed even though his hand tightened around Stiles’s. "The best."

John and Peter stared at each other a long moment, and Stiles began to squirm. His father had always been protective, but this was silly. Stiles was an adult, and he deserved to be treated like someone who could make his own decisions. He opened his mouth to say so when John offered Peter his hand.

"Sheriff John Stilinski," he said, and Peter took his hand immediately.

"Peter Hale," Peter replied as they shook hands. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

"You too." He looked between Peter and Stiles a moment, before he stood up. "Could I talk to you a moment outside, Peter?"

"Of course," Peter said, following him out.

When they moved out of the room, they could still be seen through the observation window on the wall, and Stiles wished he knew how to read lips. Scott moved closer and hopped on the bed so they could both watch. They sat there in silence for a couple minutes, peering out the window as John exchanged silent words.

"Think your dad is giving him the shovel speech?" Scott asked lightly.

Stiles nodded. "I bet my dad is expressing how he has all the resources to hide Peter's body where it would never be found."

Peter didn’t look scared though. In fact, after a moment of John talking, he smiled, _laughed. John laughed too, patting Peter’s shoulder goodnaturedly. Whatever they were talking about must have been hilarious, because They continued to laugh, and even Stiles could hear them._

They came back into the room, and Stiles gave them a curious look, eager to know what they were talking about out in the hall. They looked like a pair of buddies now.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s see about getting you checked out and home,” the sheriff said. “We’ll see you for dinner, right, Peter?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Peter walked over and boldly kissed Stiles right on the mouth. “See you tonight, Stiles. Try not to get hospitalized again.”

“I’ll do my best,” Stiles said with a laugh.

* * *

“No, Dad, just because we’re having a guest, that doesn’t mean you can change your diet,” Stiles said as he stood in the chilled meat section with his father, crossing his arms and glaring at him as the man held up some steaks. “No red meat.”

“But, son, it’s perfect grilling weather.” John held the steaks up a bit higher like ‘see, see?’

Stiles moved over and pulled the meat out of his dad’s hands, putting them back, and then picking up a packet of chicken breasts. “White meat, male parental unit.” He tossed the the packet into the cart, before he grabbed it and started to pull it away. “And salad. To the produce section!”

John groaned and mumbled as he followed behind.

Stiles let John buy imitation bacon bits out of pity. When they got home, John went to heat up the grill and Stiles went into the kitchen to brainstorm on what they could eat. A simple grilled breast with barbecue sauce would be easy. 

Peter showed up while the chicken was on the grill, and Stiles got him to himself for now because John was watching that chicken like a hawk, making sure it didn’t dry out. Stiles folded himself against Peter’s front, breathing him in and just feeling happy he was there. 

“I’m so ready to be back in the city where we can see each other without our family being around,” he admitted, and Peter chuckled, a low vibration in his chest. 

“As am I. It’s been far too long since I’ve had you all alone,” Peter told him, running his hand up and down Stiles’s back. “But your winter break will be over soon, and all too quickly you’ll be up to your ears in class work.”

Stiles moaned unhappily. “Don’t remind me!” He was not looking forward to his classes. He just wanted to laze around naked with Peter for the rest of his days. He nuzzled against Peter’s neck. “And you won’t have any time for me once you’re busy with your clubs again.”

Peter let out a huff of a laugh. “Now you know that’s not true.”

“Could be,” Stiles said, muffled in Peter’s skin.

“Never,” Peter replied.

The sliding door to the backyard opened then, and John came in with a plate of sizzling chicken breasts, all slathered in sauce. “Peter,” he said, balancing the plate on one hand as he held the other out to shake. “Glad you could make it.”

“Sheriff,” Peter said with his charming smile on.

“Please, call me John,” the sheriff said, before he moved over to the kitchen counter to put the chicken down.

“Of course,” Peter replied.

Dinner was easy, full of simple conversation about nothing and everything. Stiles was a real happy camper as Peter and John talked like they were old friends. John wasn’t asking questions about their personal doings, and Peter wasn’t being sarcastic. 

When they were done, John went off, telling them to wait a moment. Stiles had no idea what he was doing, but he had a feeling it couldn’t be good. When John came back, it was with a book of baby pictures, and Stiles wanted to die.

“Nooo!” he tried, throwing himself at his dad, who rather nimbly avoided him. Stiles was left grumbling as the two men laughed at picture after picture of a goofy kid that eventually grew up to be less goofy. He still had funny ears and gangly limbs though.

Eventually John left for a late shift, leaving Stiles and Peter alone.

“You must show me your room,” Peter said, leering at Stiles in an obvious way.

“Must I?” Stiles asked, batting his eyes at him, before he took Peter’s hand and dragged him up the stairs. “This is it.” He swept his arm out wide, indicating to the whole of his room.

His room was pretty much a total mess. The bed was unmade and disheveled, the floor was littered with discarded clothing and his desk was a wreck. His laptop was open, and there was a paused YouTube video on the screen. He’d been on the Superfruit channel instead of napping like he was supposed to be.

“Hm, homey,” Peter said, before he grabbed the front of Stiles’s shirts and pushed him against the wall. 

Stiles could only grunt before Peter mashed their lips together, hard and demanding, and he moaned softly as Peter’s tongue took control of his mouth. He felt Peter’s hands pushing up his shirts, and Stiles just lifted his arms obediently so they could be removed. Then he bit his lips together as Peter worked the front of his pants open, pulling out his only partially hard dick.

Peter went to his knees. “Will you be loud for me?” he said, his lips moving against the head of Stiles’s cock, before he licked it. “Or are you compelled to be quiet since this is your childhood home?” 

Stiles just looked down at him, distressed.

Peter took Stiles’s cock in his mouth and gave it a hard suck, startling a gasp out of him. “If you’re loud, I won’t tease you. I’ll bring you off fast and swallow you down,” Peter said, his voice like a big cat’s purr. The sound of it made a shudder roll up Stiles’s spine. “If you hold back, I’ll keep you on the edge for a long, long time. That’s not what you want, is it?”

Stiles shook his head, worrying at his bottom lip.

Smiling, Peter dragged his tongue along the underside of Stiles’s cock. “Then scream my name.” He swallowed him whole, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucked. 

The noise that Stiles let out was some bastardization of an obscenity. He wanted to be loud, wanted to please Peter, so he let himself go, released that little part of him that said someone would hear, that his dad would hear. “P-Peter!” he tried, and he got a hard suck for his effort. He almost bucked right off the wall. Damn, Peter was good at this. “Peter!” he said again, louder, more assertive.

Peter’s mouth was like a vortex of sucking and licking. What he was doing with his tongue had to be illegal in a few of the more conservative states. His hands caught Stiles’s ass, nails digging in. 

“Ah, fuck, Peter!” Stiles called at the top of his lungs, feeling the building behind his stomach, the curling of his toes, the tell tale signs that he was on the verge. “I’m—oh shit—fuck, I’m coming! Peter! Peter!” He threw his head back against the wall as Peter drank him down with loud _swallows_.

Peter fixed his pants, zipping him back up again, before he stood up and kissed him hard. “That’s my Stiles,” he said, and Stiles shuddered. “It’s been far too long, hasn’t it?”

Stiles snorted. “Too long.”

“Let’s never go so long again,” Peter said, before he kissed him again. 

Stiles agreed with a roll of his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the prompt editing, [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale)! Mwah!
> 
> Next chapter: Stiles has been a bad boy and has to be punished.
> 
> Next update by **9/21/14**.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has been naughty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> Early update! It would have been earlier, but I had a rough time the past few days. Oh well.

It was weird being back at school again, returning to praying for the next break to be right around the corner. Unfortunately, it wasn't. The break was was months away, and Stiles was left to deal with the cool weather and his books. He and Peter went back to seeing each other on the weekends, which was nice. He had missed their routine.

"You know what we've never done?" Peter asked as they lounged about in Peter's living room.

Stiles looked over, still petting the cat. "There are a few things on my list we haven't done."

Peter snorted, reaching over and scratching his nails lightly on the top of Lady Godiva’s head. "True, but I didn't mean that. I meant we haven't gone on an actual date."

Stiles shifted toward Peter, drawing one of his legs up on the couch. The cat moved so she was hunkered down in the crevice his legs made. "You cook for me all the time," he said. "Those are kind of like dates." He probably preferred Peter's cooking to any restaurant anyway.

"Kind of. But we should go on an actual date at least once, just to say we did." Peter rubbed Lady Godiva’s nose with his thumb and got a breathy purr in return.

Stiles shrugged. He was up for a date if Peter wanted to. "You're not going to make me go somewhere black tie, are you?"

Laughter bubbled out of Peter. "Yes, we'll go to a five star restaurant and then the opera," he replied.

"Nooooo," Stiles whined, sliding to the side so he just folded over. "I'm washing my hair that day."

Peter reached over to touch Stiles's cheek. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I was thinking we could get fondue. I haven't had it in ages."

"I've never had it," Stiles admitted, and Peter looked aghast.

* * *

The Melting Pot was the go-to spot for fondue, and after checking out their prices online, Stiles didn't feel too guilty knowing that Peter would want to pay for the whole meal. He only felt a little bit guilty.

The lighting was dimmed around the tables, and they were separated from the other patrons so it was impossible to see anyone else. Stiles kind of liked it, because it meant he could play footsie with Peter like a dork and no one could judge him. He was pretty excited about with melted cheese appetizer and the bread and apple chunks he was going to dip in them.

Peter asked him about his classes, which were all doing fine. "My grade could be higher in one of them, but I'm in no danger of losing my scholarship," Stiles said as swirled a piece of bread in the cheese and pulled it off the dipping fork with his teeth.

"How much do you have left?" Peter asked as he dipped his own bread. He made eating it look less ridiculous somehow. Stiles was jealous of his suavity. 

"Three semesters including this one. I'm still in awe that I'm over the midway hump. It's all downhill from here." Stiles smiled brightly, and Peter returned the expression with a softer smile of his own.

"Ready to start teaching?"

"Born ready," Stiles replied confidently, and Peter's smile grew.

Stiles was excited to become a teacher, because he loved kids and wanted to have his own group to teach and mould the minds of. He wanted to teach them to spell and how to count to a hundred. He wanted to put gold stars on projects, because they were all going to be beautiful.

The subject changed then to Peter's clubs. Stiles asked if anything had gone into disarray while he was gone during the winter. Peter just chuckled and said that everything was business as usual. He'd given one of his bartenders a raise though, and she was pleased.

The main course arrived after a while, a wine and oil mixture for steak, chicken and shrimp. Stiles and Peter chatted about various things, like the Hales, how the triplets wanted to play with Stiles again and how Laura was in love with him.

Malia and Stiles had been texting on and off since New Year's. She was going on tour in Australia soon so she'd be out of touch, but she said that next time she was in the area she'd get Stiles and his friends tickets to her band's show. Stiles was excited, because he'd become such a huge fan of hers in the past couple of months.

They talked briefly about the case against the man that had drugged Stiles. He had pleaded out, and Stiles was thankful because he hadn't wanted to go through the circus of a trial. The man had gotten seven years in prison with no possibility of early parole. Stiles could hardly believe how well everything actually turned out.

The main course was pretty good, but it didn't compare to the dessert, which was chocolate with cayenne and chili powder, just spicy and rich enough to give Stiles a religious experience when he dipped a strawberry in it. He moaned softly and closed his eyes in pure bliss. Now _this_ was his new favorite thing.

When he opened his eyes, he found Peter watching him with a hungry look in his eyes. "What?" he asked.

"That sound you just made makes me want to pin you to the booth and have my way with you," Peter informed him.

Stiles felt his cheeks heating up even as he gave an impish smile. "Then it wouldn't help to say that I want you to pour warm chocolate all over me and lick it off, would it?" Peter's eyes went feral at that, and Stiles continued to grin as he dropped his voice. "Or, that I want to suck it off your dick?"

Peter's nostrils flared like a bull. "Tease." 

He paid the check shortly after that and all but carried a giggling and snorting Stiles out of the joint.

* * *

"I have something new for us to try," Peter said between kisses as he backed Stiles down the hallway. They stopped briefly by the bedroom to get Stiles's collar, which Peter put around his neck, and then they headed for the toy room. 

Stiles was excited. 

"I like new things," Stiles told him, and Peter snorted, because yes, he knew. He turned Stiles around once they were in the room, putting one hand over his eyes and leading him.

Stiles put his hands out, grinning as he wondered what Peter’s plan was. Last time they were in here, Peter tortured him with a vibrator until he came so many times that he couldn't think. 

This time, when Peter stopped and removed his hand, Stiles found himself looking at a padded wooden stand that was about three feet long. He wasn't sure exactly what was going to happen, and he looked at Peter in confusion. 

"I'm going to blindfold you, and then tie you to this," Peter said, catching the hem of Stiles’s multiple shirts and tugging them over his head. "I'm going to open you up on my fingers." His hands came around Stiles’s waist, undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. Peter pushed those down along with his underwear and Stiles stepped out of them. "Then I'm going to let my fucking machine loose on your pretty ass."

Stiles moaned, the only proper response to that. He'd known Peter had a fucking machine, had seen it and asked questions about it. But, this would be the first time Peter pulled it out of the closet to use on _him._

"Agreeable?" Peter asked softly, right in his ear, and Stiles shuddered while nodding. His cock seconded the notion with an interested twitch. "Good. Safeword?"

"Green for good. Yellow for discuss. Red for stop," Stiles said, shivering as Peter ran his fingertips down his spine and then cupped his ass.

"Good boy," Peter said, before he directed him onto the padded stand.

It wasn't too uncomfortable once Stiles got situated, his wrists and ankles bound and his ass hanging off the stand just enough so his hard on wasn't pressing against anything hard. He shifted around, testing his bindings and finding them secure. The blindfold was last, and Stiles dove into darkness eagerly. He pressed his cheek against the padding and waited.

Peter ran his hands over Stiles's back and butt. "You look so beautiful like this," Peter said, kneading the skin. "You want to be good for me, don't you?"

"Yes, please," Stiles whined, clenching his hands into fists. "I want to."

"My beautiful Stiles, so eager to please. How did I ever get so lucky?" Peter dragged his nails down Stiles’s back, causing him to let out a shuddering moan.

Soon there was a click of a lube bottle, followed by a slicked finger teasing through the crack of Stiles’s ass. He shifted back as much as he could, which turned out to be not at all. Peter seemed inclined to tease though, because he just ran the pad of his finger around Stiles’s hole, and Stiles whined at the lack of pressure. 

“Don’t get impatient,” Peter murmured to him with a smile in his tone.

Stiles rubbed his cheek back and forth on the padded stand. He wanted to be impatient, wanted to scream and yell, but he could feel Peter’s presence there like a hand against the back of his neck, telling him not to worry about what was going to happen, to just _feel._ He took a deep breath, looked inward and centered himself, before he let out that breath in a sigh. 

“That’s it,” Peter said, and Stiles moaned when he felt that probing finger press past the furrowed flesh of his hole inwards

He felt greedy for it, the complete opposite to the emptiness he’s felt when he’s thought about the royal fuckings Peter has given him in the past. They were often enough that Stiles had taken to wearing his plug now and again to satiate him. Every time he texted Peter to tell him about it, they ended up talking on the phone, and Stiles would fuck himself with the plug or his fingers. Nothing made him quite as sated as when Peter was filling him up though. Fingers, tongue, or cock, it didn’t matter.

Peter added another finger, spreading them apart and pulling Stiles open. Stiles moaned and breathed out a hot cloud against the padding, making it damp. He could feel the way Peter was stretching him so perfectly, like each minute movement was causing sensation to flow through his body, up his spine and over his brain. He whimpered when those two fingers brushed over his prostate.

When Peter added a third finger, he let out a hum of consideration. “Someday I’m going to give you my fist,” he said, and Stiles shivered at the thought. “But not tonight. Tonight I want to do something else. I want you to hold back until I tell you it’s alright to come. Can you do that for me, Stiles?”

Stiles managed to choke back an immediate affirmative, even though he didn’t know if he could do that, honestly. He’d been edged before, his orgasms denied, but he’d never tried to hold them off himself. Could he do it? What would happen if he didn’t? He licked his lips. 

“Yeah, I can,” he said, because he was nothing if not foolhardy. 

Peter spread his fingers out wide, humming softly in admiration. “I know you’ll do your best.”

When Peter removed his fingers, Stiles might have wiggled his butt just a tad, and he grinned when Peter chuckled before giving it a little smack. He listened to him walk away, listened to some shuffling and then more shuffling, the squeak of a table being pulled across the room, then the full ‘oof’ of something being set on that table. 

There was a quiet whirring noise then the sound of something slick, probably lube on the machine’s dildo if Stiles was in the right mindset to be making educated guesses. Then there was a wet hand on his ass again, pulling his cheeks apart.

The first thrust of the dildo into him was slow, and Stiles moaned with it, toes curling. It was so good, so thick and perfect for what he needed right then. Peter knew just how to treat him to make him feel pampered. The dildo dragged in him, aimed just right to make pleasure curl like smoke inside of Stiles.

“Good?” Peter asked as the dildo started up its even rhythm, something slow and steady.

“Uh huh,” Stiles whimpered, licking his lips. The pace was perfect, nailing him right where it was good with every rotation of the machine’s gears.

 _Shit_ , this was going to be difficult.

Stiles began to pant against the padded stand, fingers curling into fists as the thrusts slowly started going faster and harder. Nope, this was the meaning of torment. He could feel his orgasm building already. Peter couldn’t have expected him to endure this for a long amount of time. 

The gears moved steadily faster, harder, and Stiles started to moan out with each rotation. “Ah, fuck!” he whined, toes dragging at the ground and fingers splaying out wide. “Ah, shit, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“No, you’re not, not yet,” Peter said from somewhere, his voice touching Stiles like a brush of fingers. “Be good for me, Stiles.”

“Fucking fuck,” was Stiles’s opinion. No, he couldn’t do this. It was building too fast. He couldn’t hold it off. “Please!”

“Sixty more seconds. Come on, Stiles, you can do it,” Peter instructed.

Stiles thought he was probably drooling by now. He whined loudly as he tried to hold back the bubbling pleasure inside of him. He could do it, he could do it!

“Fifty seconds.”

Counting down, that was good. It gave him something to focus on instead of the roiling under his belly. His cock was steadily leaking onto the ground.

“Forty seconds.” 

Stiles took steadying breaths through his nose, aware that he was trembling.

“Thirty seconds.”

He felt like he was going to win this, yup. He could do this.

“Twenty seconds.”

He was so close, so very nearly there that he loosened his grip on his control just a little.

“Aaah!” Stiles screamed loud enough to shake the rafters, coming hard onto the side of the stand and the floor. He twitched for a moment, before he came back to himself and realized the machine had stopped, leaving him empty, and all was quiet.

“Oh no,” he mumbled. 

He’d failed.

“You were almost there. You had thirteen seconds to go,” came Peter’s voice as the blindfold was removed. He didn’t look pleased. “I will have to punish you.”

Stiles frowned as he was unbound and helped back into a standing position, his world tilting a little at first. He rubbed at his wrist, weary. “What kind of punishment?” 

Peter gave him a warm look, pulling him close so he could kiss his cheek. “Nothing too daunting, I assure you. We will discuss it like we do everything else.” Peter leaned their foreheads together. “We will think of something.”

* * *

Stiles didn’t have to wait very long for his punishment. The next night when they were about to go to Teeth, and Stiles was changing into his sexy clothes—his laced shirt and a pair of black pants that hung low on his hips—Peter went to his toy room and came back with a few things, including a bulbous-looking buttplug. Stiles halted with his pants partway up his thighs and just stared.

“Because you were a bad boy,” Peter said, eyebrow twitching up. “You’re going to wear this tonight while we’re at the club. You’re going to feel what it’s like to be just on the edge of full all night until I decide you’ve had enough, and then I’ll fuck you.” 

Stiles shivered, nodding, before he turned around and braced his hands on the bed. Peter didn’t waste any time lubing up his fingers and working Stiles open. It was cursory stretching though, only enough so Peter could press the plug in. 

Peter had been right. It was _just_ short of perfect. Stiles was so satisfied that he clenched down on the plug and moaned softly.

Stiles stood up, pulling up his briefs and pants as he turned toward Peter in expectation. He knew there had to be more. 

There was always more when it came to Peter.

Peter smiled and held up a pair of leather cuffs. “For when we reach the club. I’m going to bind you in one spot so you can sit and think about how you’ll do better next time.”

“Like a timeout?” Stiles asked, shivering.

“Much like a time out. Lastly, You’re going to wear this.” He held up a red ball gag attached to a black leather strap. 

Stiles stared at it in surprise, and Peter went to lift it to his mouth. He stepped back without thinking. “Yellow.”

Peter lowered the gag immediately. “Stiles?”

“I know I said I might be open to it in my list, but now that I’m looking at it, I’m realizing I’m not.” He licked his lips as Peter watched him. “All I’m thinking about is how uncomfortable it’ll be and that I won’t be able to talk to you if I need to.” 

Peter looked down at the gag, considering it, before he just tossed it onto the bed with a shrug. “Let’s compromise then. You stay silent unless I speak directly to you or you need to voice a concern. How’s that?”

Stiles smiled, nodding. He could do that. It made him want to hug Peter that he would change his plans just like that for Stiles’s convenience. He shouldn’t have been surprised though. Peter was a wonderful dom.

“Is that all?” Stiles asked, because it seemed a little light for a punishment.

“Nearly,” Peter replied, before he lifted his hand, and in it was what looked like a little remote. He hit a button, and Stiles nearly doubled over as the plug in him started to vibrate.

He looked up when the vibration stopped, finding Peter staring at him with a grin on his face.

He was not going to survive the night.

* * *

When they reached the club and had checked their jackets and motorcycle helmets, Peter took Stiles’s hands and bound them behind his back, before he pressed a tender kiss to Stiles’s bare shoulder. He led Stiles to the bar. “Tags, please, Amy.” 

The woman at the bar nodded, reaching under the bar and pull up a box of what looked like large dog tags. Peter picked up an X and clipped it to the front of Stiles’s collar.

“This is so no one else will mess with you while you’re being punished,” he said as he ran his fingers along Stiles’s collar. “From here on, you’re only to speak when I give you permission. Is that clear?” Stiles nodded mutely, and Peter smiled. “Good.” Peter considered him a moment. “Next time, I’ll put you on a leash.” 

Stiles smiled at him, scrunching up his nose. He wouldn’t mind being led around by a leash. Peter could put him on his hands and knees—in private—and Stiles would follow him anywhere. "Woof."

Peter laughed softly, before he turned away. “C’mon, you,” he said, and walked with Stiles following dutifully behind him towards the back of the club. Their _place._

Stiles went to sit on one of the couches, but Peter caught him and urged him to the ground between his spread legs. He put a hand in Stiles's hair, petting it and drawing his nails lightly along Stiles’s scalp. Stiles shivered and pressed his cheek against Peter's knee, shutting his eyes.

This didn't feel much like punishment. Granted, he was usually a total chatter box, so being ordered into silence was new. He could do it though, especially if Peter kept petting his hair like that. Stiles might even fall asleep.

There was a click in Peter's hand, and Stiles jerked when his ass started to vibrate with a very slight hum in the air. You'd have to be perfectly quiet to hear it. Stiles adjusted his sitting position this way and that, trying to find one that didn't feel like there was a vibrating bulb against his prostate. No such position existed though, and he whined hopelessly.

When the vibration stopped, Stiles looked up at Peter to see him wearing an easy, smug look that just looked so good on his face that Stiles wanted to kiss him. Or maybe bite him. Stiles settled for rubbing his cheek against Peter’s inner thigh like an insistent cat.

"You're being awfully demanding for someone that's being punished," Peter said, lifting the remote so Stiles could see him hit the button for the second setting.

The buzzing made Stiles gasp, and he dug his forehead into Peter's thigh, whining. He wasn't going to be able to handle this for long. It was too much. He was already hard, and if this kept up, he was going to end up with a wet patch in the front of his pants.

The vibration stopped again, and Stiles sighed in relief, even as his dick throbbed. He could just tell Peter was going to keep him hard all night long if he could, and that was a kind of punishment that would have Stiles's face wet with tears by the end of it. Because he hadn’t come when he’d supposed to, now Peter wasn’t going to let him until specified. It was as beautiful as it was evil.

"Someone's in trouble," came a mellow voice, and Stiles looked over to see Julia sitting down on the opposite couch with Kali, her tall, dark sub. Kali was wearing a sheer black teddy that shown off her clamped nipples and the silver chain dangling between them. Kali, ever the strong silent type, just gave Stiles a level look as he stared with his mouth gaping like a fish.

He tended to get fear boners around Kali.

"Yes, he is," Peter said, raking his fingers through Stiles’s hair and bringing him back to the present.

"Oh, what did he do?" Julia asked, putting her elbow on the back of the couch so she could play with Kali's long black hair. "Or _didn't_ he do, should the case may be."

Stiles looked up at Peter, who nodded to give him permission to speak. "Came when I wasn't supposed to," Stiles said in a near petulant tone. He was never very good at receiving punishment.

"Ah, tsk tsk," Julia said brightly. "You'll do better next time."

"He certainly will," Peter agreed, giving Stiles’s collar a little tug and making him blush, which was ridiculous given he was still sporting a hard on.

Thankfully, it was hidden by the coffee table.

"I was actually hoping to talk to you privately," Julia said lightly, leaning back and crossing her legs to dangle her pinpoint stiletto in the air. 

“Oh?” Peter asked, and there was something in his tone. It was blandly polite. But his fingers curled a little tighter on Stiles’s collar.

“I was wondering if you’d like to set up a playdate between Kali and Stiles,” she said, stringing her fingers through Kali’s hair and smiling.

Peter lifted his chin just a tad. “You know I don’t like to share,” he said, still with that blank expression.

“I know,” Julia said, voice sweet as syrup. “But I also know that you have made exceptions if your sub is interested.” He eyes dropped to Stiles. “Is he?”

Peter released Stiles’s collar and curled his fingers under his chin, lifting it so Stiles was looking right at him. “Are you?”

It was such a loaded question. Stiles could tell by Peter’s strategically empty expression that he was leaving it entirely up to him. Stiles could have said yes, and he would have gone with it, because this was just as much about Stiles’s needs as it was Peter’s. If Stiles wanted to experiment, Peter would let him and probably only grumble a little bit.

The thing was, Stiles was interested. Who wouldn’t be? Kali was a gorgeous woman, and she looked like she would bend him like a pretzel and he’d just beg for more. Julia was probably inventive in all sorts of fun ways, and it was bound to be an experience that left him breathless.

But he didn’t want it, not when he and Peter were still discovering each other. There was too much fun to be had. He didn’t want to complicate things when it was already perfect.

Stiles shifted his head, tilting it down so he could kiss Peter’s palm then lay his cheek against it. “No,” he said, offering Peter a soft smile. “I’m not.” He looked over at Julia and Kali. “Sorry.”

Julia let out a little sigh. “No worries, darling.” She twirled her finger around a lock of Kali’s hair. “We’ll find someone else to play with.”

“Have you ever thought about doing a swinger’s night, Peter?” Kali asked, and Julia let out a little “oh!” of delight.

Peter hummed. “Actually, that’s not too bad of an idea…”

That’s how they got started talking about a new event for the club. It turned out Julia and Kali actually had quite a few ideas, and Peter was more than open to hearing them. Seeing Peter in business mode was new to Stiles. He usually left Stiles alone alone to deal with those things, probably because he thought it would be boring for him. But it wasn’t. Stiles felt just as engaged as Peter looked.

An hour into the discussion Stiles had his own idea, and he perked up, shimmying a bit on the floor as he tried to figure out how to get Peter’s attention when it was fixated on the women. He let out a frustrated little sound, shifting around and wishing he could put up his hand like a kid in a classroom, but his arms were still bound behind his back. Finally he just threw his face at Peter’s thigh in a headbutt.

The conversation came to a halt and everyone just looked at Stiles in surprise. Julia let out this little lilting giggle like he was an adorable thing doing a trick, before she covered her mouth. Stiles fought not to stick his tongue out at her.

“Do you have something to add?” Peter asked, carding his fingers through Stiles’s hair. He was smiling too, but it was more fond than mocking.

Stiles felt his cheeks heating up. He must have looked so silly. It was okay to talk though, right? “Wristbands,” he announced rather proudly, and they all stared at him. Right, explanation. “Uh, I mean, you could have the club goers wear wristbands that stated what they were after. Like, blue if they’re looking for singles or purple for couples. Yellow if they just want to watch. I don’t know. There’s a whole range of possibilities.”

Peter lifted his brows, before he tilted his head with a hum of consideration.

“That sounds like a splendid idea,” Julia said, before she sipped a glass of wine she’d gotten in the middle of the conversation.

“It does,” Peter agreed, looking down at Stiles and running his thumb over his bottom lip. “I’ll definitely take it into consideration.” 

Because he could, Stiles flicked his tongue lightly over that thumb, earning a little laugh.

When the conversation drew to a close, the ladies left with Julia saying something about finding Danny and Jackson. Stiles watched them go, before he grunted as Peter tugged his hair lightly. He put his head back to look at him then let out a soft moan as Peter hit the second button on the remote and Stiles’s whole backside started to vibrate.

“You didn’t forget, did you?” Peter asked, petting Stiles’s hair.

Stiles hadn’t forgotten. Who could forget a bulb of black silicone in their ass? But his hard on had gone down while the talking had been going on. It was coming back with a vengeance though, and he squirmed in his place, shifting and straightening out his legs. They erupted with pins and needles after being folded for so long, and he gasped as the pleasure and the pain mixed.

Since they were alone, he unabashedly rocked his ass down against the ground, trying to shift the plug in him deeper if he could, so it would stop being such a fucking tease. He couldn’t manage it, but dammit he tried, and that was what counted. He pressed his cheek against Peter’s thigh again and just whined pitifully.

“My poor, sweet Stiles,” Peter said above him, and Stiles opened his tightly shut eyes to find Peter smirking like a smug asshole down at him.

Stiles made plans to lick Peter’s face while he was sleeping. Revenge.

Then Peter hit the last button on the control, and all of Stiles’s rational thoughts went out the window. His back bowed as he let out a loud moan, unable to give a single damn if anyone but Peter heard him. He twisted and arched, bound hands scrambling at the floor as his legs kicked out and pressed together. He panted against Peter’s thigh, dampening the fabric of his pants with his breath.

He didn’t care, couldn’t care, because he was going to come like a teenager in his pants in less than five seconds.

But the vibration was gone as swift as it came, and Stiles could only mewl in frustration. He shifted to look at Peter again, but Peter was standing, taking Stiles by the arms and pulling him to his feet with a murmured “C’mon.” Stiles didn’t even try to be graceful as he stumbled along with Peter toward the back rooms, his legs feeling a bit like a newborn fawn and his arms a dead weight. Luckily, Peter we able to more or less carry him to a room.

It was the Black Room, Stiles realized once they were inside. He’d never seen this one before, and he found as he looked around that even Peter wasn’t above making the room 85% leather.

He swayed a bit as Peter freed his hands, and he shook out his arms. His shoulders were a bit sore, but he didn’t mind. Peter turned him about and kissed him, and it took a second for his fried brain to kick online again so he could kiss back. He could do little but go along with Peter as he was walked backwards, making an embarrassing noise when his tongue was sucked on.

“You were very good tonight,” Peter told him, his fingers brushing over the lacing on the sides of Stiles’s shirt. He pulled that over Stiles’s head, and Stiles fought not to sway, still feeling out of it, probably because all the blood that was supposed to be in his brain was in his dick. “I think you’ve been punished enough. You can speak freely now.”

“Fuck me,” was the first thing that came to Stiles’s fizzled mind. He threw his arms around Peter’s neck and mouthed at his jaw. “Please. I need it.”

Peter just smiled, an almost violent flash of teeth across his face, before his nimble fingers started undoing Stiles’s pants, pushing them down so Stiles could step out of them and be naked. Then, he took Stiles by the collar and led him over to a fucking sex swing. (Somehow Stiles hadn’t noticed what was essentially a leather harness hanging from the ceiling.)

“Oh hell yeah,” Stiles managed to blurt before he was being lifted bodily--again reminded just how strong Peter was--and laid into the contraption, his wrists and ankles being bound so he was wide open and exposed. So this was a thing he could now check off his list.

“I bet you’re ready to have this out, aren’t you?” Peter asked, his fingers dancing around the plug, and Stiles made some urgent unintelligible sound to the affirmative. Peter gave the base of the plug a little tug, and Stiles jolted. “Hm,” Peter mused, before he stepped away, and Stiles had a moment to whine about him go away before he was back, shirtless now with a bottle of lube.

Stiles let his head fall back, moaning as Peter slathered the base of the plug with lube and pressed and twisted it gently to get him sopping wet. He felt loose, empty, when Peter finally pulled the plug free, and if the man didn’t replace it with his dick pronto, he was going to start cursing in multiple languages.

He’d gotten a list of curses from Isaac as a present once, and he’d endeavored to learn them all so he could be creatively explicit.

Luckily he didn’t have to wail in Polish, because he could hear the wrapper of a condom and then Peter was pressing inside him, causing him to let out a bone deep groan and shiver to the core. Okay, so the plug had been awesome, but it couldn’t compare to the drag of Peter’s dick along his inner walls. He clutched at the leather straps his hands were tied to and tried to get some momentum to rock his body against Peter’s.

But there was no leverage to be had, and if Stiles had been capable of higher brain function, he would have realized that was deliberate. Peter took him by the hips and started up a punishing rhythm, one that punched loud cries out of Stiles’s lungs. There was no way to hold back. The ability had been torn from him.

“Look at me,” Peter demanded, and Stiles lifted his head to find a hunger on Peter’s face, a ferociousness that made him look almost animalistic. “You’re mine, aren’t you, Stiles? All mine.”

“Yours,” Stiles cried in agreement. How could he be anything but?

“Than come for me,” Peter told him with a particularly vicious thrust that nailed right into his prostate.

Stiles came like his skin had been split open and freed his essence into the wind, arching with a scream that made his voice hoarse and his throat weak. He saw spots, or maybe those were blood vessels in his eyes exploding from the heat. He couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that nothing hurt.

He came back to himself slowly, and, when he did, Peter had pulled out, torn off the condom and stroked himself to completion all over Stiles’s stomach and chest. Stiles just tried to breathe like a normal person, despite wanting to rub that spunk into his skin and then take a nap like a cat. 

Peter undid the bindings on his wrists and ankles, before picking Stiles up and toting him over to the bed like a body pillow. Then, began the best cuddling of Stiles’s life. He just laid there as Peter played with his hair and stroked his hand along Stiles’s back and thighs. He was murmuring sweet nothings like “My sweet boy” and “So good for me.” His lips moved along Stiles’s cheeks and forehead. 

Stiles just closed his eyes and let himself be pampered. He must have fallen asleep too, though he wasn’t sure for how long, and he woke up to Peter petting his hair, saying his name.

“Mmn?” Stiles complained, wanting to roll over and just stay where he was.

“Get up, sweet thing. It’s time to go home,” Peter said to him with a soft smile on his lips.

“Boo,” Stiles replied, before he pushed himself up. At least he had control of his body again. The come all over his front had dried, and Stiles just decided to wear it home like a badge. He would shower eventually.

As he was wiggling into his black skinnies, Peter spoke up. “Stiles, when is your Spring Break?” 

Stiles zipped himself up, trying to remember. “Uh, I think March 20th through the 27nth.”

“Ah,” Peter said.

Stiles turned to look at him as he picked up his shirt. “Why?”

Peter was smoothing down his own v-neck. “My birthday is the 23rd of March, and I was thinking of going somewhere.”

“Like Vegas?” Stiles asked, hopping on one foot as he pulled on a shoe.

“More like Bali.” Peter grinned as Stiles gave him a wide-eyed stare. “Would you like to go away with me?”

Stiles didn’t even hesitate, grinning. “Shit, yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks always to the lovely [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale) for the read.
> 
> Next up: Bali.
> 
> Next update by **9/28/14**.
> 
> What do you want to see in the next chapter? In Bali there are beautiful temples, stunning beaches, an elephant sanctuary and so much more.
> 
> Any acts in the bedroom that I haven't written that you'd like to see?
> 
> Edit: I'm late because the chapter is running long. Hopefully I'll have it up by Monday!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adventures in Bali.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> Ah, late upload! I'm sorry, guys!

Stiles had been on all of three flights in his lifetime, and none of them were longer than three hours. When he Googled how long it would take to get to Bali, he squawked in horror upon finding that it was a flight time of just under _twenty hours._ The hell was he supposed to do for such an extended amount of time?

When they boarded, Stiles, Peter and the rest of the people going first class got to go first. Stiles claimed the seat by the window, and Peter sat next to him. Immediately Stiles discovered that his chair could swivel, and he whispered a delighted "Oh my God" as he twisted about. He could also nearly lay his seat all the way back.

Once they were in the air, a flight attendant rolled a cart up next to them with all kinds of goodies. Stiles ended up nearly consuming his weight in chocolate covered strawberries and champagne. He let his legs jump as the sugar took over his system, feeling tipsy and elated. But the moment he crashed he was asleep, his head on Peter’s shoulder.

When he woke up, he was disoriented, reeling a bit from a weird dream in which he'd been Spider-Man, swinging from high-rise to high-rise. He felt like he'd slept a million hours, and he scrubbed at his face, happy to find he hadn’t drooled all over Peter's shoulder. 

That would have been embarrassing. 

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Peter said, not looking up from his tablet where he was reading something.

"How long was I out?" Stiles asked, before he cupped his hand over his mouth to hide his jaw cracking yawn.

Peter looked at the time on his tablet. "About four hours."

Stiles groaned, sinking down in his seat. "Great." He still had the majority of the flight to suffer through. He wondered if he could get anymore chocolate covered strawberries.

He pulled a book out of his carry on bag and flipped to the spot where he was at. That entertained him for all of fifteen minutes. He was too keyed up for reading. He stared out the window a bit, watching the shapes of the clouds change. But soon he was bored of that too, so he swiveled back and forth in his chair, glancing at Peter, who was perfectly engrossed in his book and thus ignoring Stiles.

Stiles leaned down to take off his shoes and socks, before he put one foot on Peter’s thigh.

Peter set his hand on that foot, curling his fingers around it. "Something I can help you with?" he asked, eyes still on his tablet.

"I'm so bored. I might die," Stiles complained dramatically, before he shuddered as Peter dug his fingertips in the sole of Stiles’s foot. "Entertain me."

Peter set his tablet on the seat tray, before he put his now free hand on Stiles's foot too, digging his thumbs in. "And how would you like me to do that?" he inquired as he kneaded at Stiles's foot.

"That's pretty nice, what you're doing there." Stiles watched him a moment before he had a brilliant idea. "We could join the Mile High Club."

Peter leaned his cheek against his headrest, smiling. "Not with two US Air marshals on board. Besides, I'm already a card carrying member."

Stiles stared at Peter, watching the man's grin grow into something like the Cheshire cat's. "Nuh uh!"

Peter snorted out a laugh. "Would I lie to you?"

"I demand details. The full who, what, when, where and why," Stiles huffed, dropping his foot to the ground and leaning in close. Peter couldn’t just throw that out there and not explain.

Peter just booped him on the nose with a finger. "It was a long time ago, long enough that it wasn't even on my dime. For a while I dated a writer named Deucalion. I was a recent divorcee, still teaching. Malia was only four at the time. It was before I figured out that I was interested in the scene.

Anyway, the flight was nearly as long as this one. It was my idea to sneak into the first class bathroom and fuck, and he was as patient and attentive with me as I could ask for. It was an interesting experience to say the least. I found it hard to be quiet, so he gagged me with my shirt."

Stiles couldn't even imagine Peter out of control or in any way submissive to someone else. It just didn't sit right in his brain. "What happened? Why'd you break up?"

"He moved back to England eventually, and neither of us were interested in any sort of long distance relationship. It was a good year and a half while it lasted." Peter shrugged nonchalantly, picking his tablet up again.

Sometimes Stiles forgot that Peter was so much older than him, that he had this wealth of experiences that Stiles couldn't even begin to match. It made him feel young, like he couldn't match Peter, wasn’t an equal in some ways. He had to wonder if this was how Peter felt when he was with Deucalion.

He stared out the window for a while, before he gave in and leaned against Peter's shoulder again. It didn't take him long to fall back to sleep. He had restless dreams.

When he woke up again, the first class cabin was dark. Peter had leaned his chair back and was dozing. Stiles wanted to climb into his lap and curl up, he didn't, obviously, but the intent was there. He nestled his head on Peter’s shoulder again, finding his hand and curling his fingers around it. 

Sleeping on a plane was the worst sleep that Stiles had ever gotten. By the time they landed, he wanted to curl up and die. Peter looked how he felt, droopy eyed and grumbly. Peter had a cow lick on the side of his head, but Stiles was sure his hair was worse, so he didn't mention it.

They got their bags and headed out of the airport to hail a cab. Once they were inside, Stiles sagged and leaned on Peter. "I'm so ready to get to the hotel," he said after Peter gave the driver the address. "I want to shower and nap for sixteen hours."

Peter chuckled and put his arm around Stiles. "We're not going to a hotel."

"We're not?" Stiles asked, confused.

"I rented us a house." Peter pressed a kiss to Stiles’s temple. "It's beautiful. Wait until you see it."

The house was definitely beautiful. Stiles had to stop and stare, standing next to the cab with his bags. The house was two stories, painted canary yellow with brown accents. Next to it was a sign that said "Private beach. No trespassing." 

Stiles turned to Peter as the cab drove off. "Private beach?" he asked, his voice catching in his throat.

"In case we get the urge to skinny dip," Peter replied lightly, before he kissed Stiles briefly and headed for the house.

The inside of the house was all wicker and soft suede. They headed up the stairs to the main bedroom, where they dropped their bags on the floor at the foot of the bed. It was a nice room. The bed was huge and soft looking. There was even a nook where they could sit and watch the waves.

Peter grabbed his hand, stopping him from just jumping onto the bed and dying for a little while. "Shower first, sleep after, " he said, all but dragging Stiles into the ensuite bathroom. There he undressed Stiles and turned on the shower before taking his own clothes off.

Stiles stood under the spray a long time, feeling the heat of the water soothe away the knots in his back and crick in his neck from sleeping on the plane. Eventually he felt hands in his hair, working shampoo to a thick lather. Stiles just stood there, letting Peter direct him where he wanted. Peter rinsed his hair before running a soapy loufa all over his body. Once he was completely clean, he leaned against the shower wall as Peter did the same treatment on himself.

"You're barely awake enough to function, aren’t you?" Peter said once they were out of the shower and he was drying Stiles off. Stiles just made a vague noise of assent. "C’mon." He led Stiles by the hand to the bed, forgoing clothes. They fell into the sheets, and Stiles was immediately asleep.

* * *

When Stiles woke up this time, he felt rested and relaxed. He had no idea how long he'd slept, but the sun was streaming in through the windows. Stiles lifted his head, caning it around to look at Peter behind him. The man was still sleeping, snoring soft as a kitten and holding Stiles around the middle. He was so handsome like this. He was handsome all the time, but especially like this, his hair a bit wild and his goatee untrimmed.

Stiles leaned in and pressed a kiss to Peter's softly parted mouth. Peter stirred, eyes blinking open, unfocused for a moment until he zeroed in on Stiles’s face. "Hey," Stiles told him, leaning in and tossing his arm across Peter’s ribs and snuggling him. 

"What time is it?" Peter asked, shifting and stretching an arm over his head as his jaw cracked with a yawn. He looked over at the clock on the bedside table. "Oh, we slept a long time," he mumbled, before he scrubbed at his face. "We should probably get up."

"We could," Stiles said shifting closer and hooking his leg over Peter's waist. "Or we could stay in bed for the rest of the day." He leaned in, kissing Peter deeply, fully prepared to climb on top of him.

Then his stomach gave a loud, unhappy rumble. "Nevermind, I'm hungry," he said against Peter's mouth, and the man gave an amused chuckle.

"Well, then it's time for us to have a taste of Indonesian cuisine," Peter said, before he swept the covers off them with a flourish.

While they got dressed, Stiles ogled Peter’s lovely ass a bit. He really couldn't help himself. It was just so nice. When they were dressed and both had their hair under control, they left the house and caught a cab into the city. They picked a restaurant with little more precision than 'eenie, meenie, miney, mo' and were led to a table.

Stiles had a marinated beef dish with fragrant rice while Peter had seared fish. Stiles was not responsible for the porny noise that left his mouth on the first bite. He was officially in love with Balinese food. He had a bit of Peter’s fish too, trading a bite of beef for it. It was tasty, the skin nice and crisp and the flesh decadent and juicy.

"I'm glad we came here," Stiles said as he finished off his food, feeling full and happy.

Peter reached across the table and took his hand, smiling as he ran his thumb over Stiles's knuckles. "Me too."

They caught another cab back to the house, and Stiles was excited to run full force into the waiting waves of the private beach. He and Peter got undressed and into their bathing suits, and Stiles was about to dash out the door when Peter caught him.

"Calm down, o' fair skinned one," Peter said with a laugh, pulling out a bottle of sunblock. "Let me spread this on your face and shoulders at least." Stiles stood there, anxious and twitchy as Peter spread the lotion over his face, neck, shoulders, chest and back. "Wouldn't want to ruin our vacation by you getting burned. You'd be totally miserable."

Stiles smiled a little. "Glad one of us has sense." 

It made him all gooey inside that Peter was looking out for him, though he shouldn't be surprised since Peter always had his head on straight even when Stiles was a bit loopy. He took the bottle of sunblock and started to spread it along Peter’s skin, leaving a bit extra on his straight nose. Once he was done, he turned and raced out the door.

The air was hot and dry, and the sand was scorching on the soles of his feet. They met the water with a squeal, diving into it where a wave crested. He splashed around like a kid a moment before he let out a shriek when arms came around his middle.

"Ah, sea monster!" he shouted, and Peter laughed in his ear before dunking him into the water. Stiles struggled and managed to turn around so he could get his arms around Peter's neck and drag him into the water too. They wrestled and rolled, clasping at each other in the waves. Eventually Stiles got the upper hand by wrapping his legs around Peter middle and overpowering him.

Peter was manic with laughter as he struggled to keep his head above water. "Mercy!" He called out, waving his arm above it head and coughing as he went under a wave. "I give up!" he gurgled.

Stiles grinned wide, before he let go of Peter and helped him up. He wiped the droplets from his face and leaned in to kiss him. "You taste like the sea," he told him, and Peter just kissed him again, causing him to moan.

They moved closer to the shore, plopping down on the wet sand and holding hands as the low tide licked at their legs. Stiles was happy enough to close his eyes and just lie there a while, his fingers hooked with Peter’s. 

"Too bad neither of us know how to surf," Stiles said, before realised something and peeked at Peter. "You don't, right?" he asked.

Peter shook his head. "I don't. I'm sure we could easily procure some lessons if we wanted to try to learn." He opened one eye to look at Stiles. "Do you?"

Stiles smiled at him. "Yeah, I think I would."

Peter smiled back, before he shifted closer and draped himself over Stiles’s body. His skin was warm and pink. They probably needed to reapply the sunblock or they would both burn. But then Peter kissed him, and Stiles forgot all about protecting his skin. It was a slow, languid kiss with no goal other than connection. Stiles groaned softly into Peter's mouth, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

They laid there until the sun went low on the horizon. Stiles felt a little burnt but not so much that he was going to peel all over the place. Peter just looked more tan, the lucky bastard. With Stiles's skin sun warmed that it was, freckles broke out across his cheeks and shoulders, and Peter spent a long moment mouthing at the new marks like they were precious. Stiles just stood there with his eyes closed, reveling in the attention.

They went out for dinner after showering to get sand out of sensitive places. They both had a seafood feast of lobster, fish and shrimp. Now that the sun was set, the city was lit by lamp light, and it was gorgeous. It was so colorful, each building painted a vivid red, yellow, green or blue. 

They found themselves on a dock, looking out over the dark waves of the sea. Stiles was kind of goofily happy that Peter was holding his hand the whole time. He squeezed their fingers together and smiled brightly at Peter, before he looked back out over the water.

This was the kind of place where people fell in love.

* * *

Stiles woke up the next morning to Peter’s face plastered to his neck, his arm around Stiles's middle and their ankles hooked together. Stiles just smiled and nuzzled Peter’s hair. He wanted to wake up like this everyday.

Eventually Peter stirred, blinking blearily at Stiles before he woke up completely. He yawned and stretched out across the mattress. "Morning," he mumbled, snuggling against Stiles's side again.

"Morning. Happy birthday." Stiles kissed the tip of Peter's straight nose. "Congrats, you're old." He grinned at Peter when he was glared at. 

"Ugh," Peter complained, turning over and pulling the pillow over his head. 

Stiles laughed, hugging him from behind. "Should I sing for you?" he asked, and Peter let out a sound like a growl. "Happy birthday to you!" Stiles crowed in the most annoying singing voice possible. "Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Pet—ah!" He barely had time to bring his arms up and block his face when Peter whipped around and nailed him with the pillow.

He struggled as Peter held him down with the pillow, and when he got his face free he laughed. “We should get a cake and a hundred candles. Or would that be a fire hazard?” He managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but then Peter was on him again, clever fingers finding Stiles’s sides. Stiles let out a shrill noise. “No, don’t tickle me!” he gasped, words broken by laughter.

“Take it back,” Peter said simply as he managed to find all of Stiles’s ticklish spots. Stiles just wriggled around and squeaked out that he would never surrender. So Peter changed tactics and when for the undersides of his knees. 

Stiles practically screamed, kicking and struggling. “Okay, I take it back!” he squealed. “You’re not old! You’re refined! You-You’ve aged like a fine wine and will only get better as—haha, stop!—as time goes on!”

Peter let him go, and Stiles shrieked as he fell right off the bed and landed with a thump. It didn’t hurt, but he let himself groan like it did, lying there in just his boxers. “You have wounded me. I am dead and gone.”

“Mmhm,” Peter replied as he got up and poked Stiles in the butt with his toe. “I’m going to make breakfast.” And he walked off to go investigate what groceries the house owners had left for them. 

Eventually, Stiles got up and went after him, not even bothering with clothes for now. He went into the kitchen where Peter seemed to be making cheese and tomato omelettes and stole a bit of cheese before going to sit down. Peter brought the plates, and they ate silently while Stiles instigated a game of footsie. Moments like these would the the ones he would cherish the most when he was looking back on the trip.

* * *

Peter managed to find them an instructor for surfing, and Stiles was damn excited. He hoped he could be awesome at it, so he could add surfer lingo to his everyday speech. He already said dude enough. 

When they got to the beach and were undressing, Stiles noticed that Peter still had a black t-shirt on. “Not going to take your shirt off?” Stiles asked as he pulled his own shirt over his head.

“No,” Peter said simply before he headed toward to water where their instructor was standing with a pair of boards.

Stiles stared after him. “Oh,” he said when he understood. Peter was fine showing off his scars at a private beach, but this was different. “Okay.” He hurried after the other man. 

The instructor was a handsome man with an accent, and Stiles felt like a total tourist that he couldn’t understand some words. That was okay because he was on the board on his belly in no time, and the instructor was telling him out to swim toward a wave and turn the board to ride it. That he was pretty good at, actually. It was when the instructor tried to get him to stand on the board that he had all the issues.

Stiles almost drowned like three times before he had to hang off the board and cough. He turned to look at Peter, watching him turned the board in the water and rock up onto his feet. Of course he was good at this. Peter just had a way with things. He conquered them all given enough effort. Though Stiles was pleased that Peter fell off his board when the wave crested.

It took a while, but Stiles did eventually get the hang of it. The instructor clapped and whooped as Stiles rode right by him, standing surefooted and proud on his board, and then he fell into the shallows with a laugh. There he sat with his board against his chest, smiling as he watched Peter continue to perfect his technique. 

When they were done, they thanked the instructor and headed back to the little building where their clothes were in lockers to shower and change. Stiles was happy to show because he had sand in places one should never have sand.

“You’re pink again,” Peter told him as they were putting on their clothes. 

“I don’t tan. I just catch fire,” Stiles said, looking at his arms, where he was looking more freckly than usual.

“I see that,” Peter said, leaning in to kiss his warmed shoulder.

They went and had lunch at a nice little place on the boardwalk, stuffing themselves with marinated chicken and rice. Stiles scooted his chair over so he could lean against Peter’s side as they digested and watched the people walk in front of the diner.

“I think this trip will use up the quota of dates for us for a while yet,” Stiles said with a yawn, his eyes fluttering closed as he got comfy against Peter’s shoulder. 

“I agree,” Peter mumbled back as he put his arm around Stiles’s waist. “Though we will have to go away again sometime during your summer break. Then again during the winter.” He hummed in contentment.

Stiles smiled as he thought about traveling everywhere with Peter, that their relationship was going to last. If Peter thought so, then Stiles was giddy with the idea. He wanted to go around the world with Peter, wanted walk the Japanese white beaches, drift down the waterways in Venice and kiss at sunset in Paris. Peter made the romantic in him swell.

After they were finished lounging, they went shopping, because obviously they needed to get souvenirs for everyone. They walked around for hours, because Peter was as picky as possible about the gifts he wanted to get for Lydia and Allison, as well as for his family. They ended up at a jeweler’s, where he picked out necklaces for the girls.

Stiles stopped at a display of little porcelain elephants, smiling as he picked them up. “These are ultra cute,” he said, showing them to Peter, who was looking at ornamental masks. “I think I’m going to get these for Scott, Isaac and my dad.” He picked out three different ones and went to pay for them. He watched the attendant wrap the elephants up nicely in bubble wrap, before he took the bag and flounced back over to Peter.

“It’s too bad we can’t go and see real elephants,” he said as he hooked arms with Peter and headed back out onto the street.

“Actually, we could,” Peter replied.

Stiles’s head snapped toward him. “Nuh uh!”

“It’s true. There is an elephant sanctuary.” Peter grinned at him.

“Why are we not there right this second?” Stiles demanded.

“Because it’s getting late, and I’m sure it’s closed,” Peter remarked, before he chuckled when Stiles shoved him. “We can go tomorrow. It was always on the itinerary.” He wrapped his arm around Stiles’s shoulder and pulled him in for a kiss. “They just had a new elephant baby born last month. She’s supposedly very friendly.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles squealed, because he was going to die of delight. 

When they got back to the house and had put their stuff down, Stiles wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulder and smiled at him. “Now that we have gifts for everyone, it’s time for your birthday present.”

“Oh?” Peter said, lips lifting in a smile as he put his hands on Stiles’s hips. 

“Yeah. I think you’ll like it.” Stiles grinned as he took Peter’s hand and led him into the bedroom, directing him to sit down on the edge of the bed. “Now close your eyes.” When Peter did, he leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose, making Peter snicker softly.

Stiles went and changed in the bathroom, just in case Peter decided to peek like the naughty guy he was. He pulled off his cloths and hunted through his bag for Peter’s gift, pulling it on with care and smiling at his reflection. He walked back out into the room and stood in front of Peter, telling him that he could open his eyes now. Peter did, and his eyes widened at what he saw.

Stiles had decided to take from a conversation they’d had long ago and buy some lingerie, with the assistance of Lydia, of course. He had on a nearly sheer with black roses pair of panties, black of course. With it was a black garterbelt and a pair of black stockings. The tops of the stockings had the same roses embroidered into the fabric.

Peter took a moment, but he eventually reached forward and took Stiles by the hips, drawing him closer. “Oh, baby, you know what I like,” he purred, thumbing at the hem of the panties.

Stiles put his hands in Peter’s hair, smiling as Peter trailed his fingertips along the hems of the panties. His fingers traced each hem, circled around each rose. He even turned Stiles around so he could palm the globes of his ass. Stiles gave his ass a shake, and Peter laughed, smacking his palm against a cheek.

Peter turned him around again and licked his lips then leaned in to mouth at Stiles’s stomach then down at the front of the panties, causing Stiles to gasp. He could feel Peter sucking at his dick through the fabric, making him harden and ruin the line of the panties.

“I’m going to tie you to the bed,” Peter told him, his mouth against Stiles’s navel. “I’m going to make you scream my name tonight.”

Stiles bit his lip, still smiling. “Then do it,” he said, a challenge there in his words.

In a heartbeat Stiles was being thrown onto the bed, and he let out a surprised laugh before Peter was taking hold of his hand and lifting them up and pin them over his head. He went and fetched the leather cuffs from his bag, securing Stiles’s hands to the bed frame. Stiles squirmed just because he was a brat, and he giggled when Peter caught his hips to hold him still.

Peter leaned in to suck at him through the panties again, and Stiles moaned, putting his head back. It wasn’t long before Peter pulled the panties down just enough to hook under his balls. It kind of stung a little, and Stiles loved it. Peter took him into his mouth and sucked him hard, causing his back to bow. God, he hoped he was allowed to come, because it wouldn’t be that long if Peter kept _swallowing_ around him like that.

The slick sounds of Peter’s mouth bobbing up and down and his hand around Stiles’s dick filled the air, though they were barely audible once Stiles’s mouth got going. “Peter!” he cried, toes curling as the beginnings of his orgasm started up, curling his insides. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

Peter lifted up, getting his hand around Stiles’s dick, under his balls, and squeezing so the feelings of Stiles coming just… stopped. So intense, and then nothing, leaving Stiles panting. He gave Stiles a knowing smile as Stiles stared up at him. “You didn’t honestly think I’d let you get away with that, did you?”

“No, because you’re evil,” Stiles replied in a squeak, failing at being smooth at the moment. “Did you just edge me?” 

“I did,” Peter said, getting up and going over to his bag to pull out lube and a condom. He dropped the condom on Stiles’s stomach, before he quickly shucked his clothes, sitting naked on the bed and lubing up his fingers. 

Stiles shifted, letting his legs fall apart and he waited for Peter to pull the panties down more and start to prepare him. He was not at all ready for what actually happened. Peter leaned back against Stiles’s hip, spreading his legs out wide and reaching between them. Stiles’s eyes went wide as he watched Peter’s fingers disappear and listened to his soft sigh. 

Peter wasn’t quick about it either, watching Stiles’s face as he prepared himself, and Stiles watched with wide eyes, beyond surprised. This wasn’t something they’d discussed before. Peter hadn’t expressed an interest, and Stiles was all to happy being the one that got fucked. But he was more for down for it if Peter wanted to try him out.

Shifting up and wiping his fingers on his own thigh, Peter grabbed the condom and tore it open, rolling it down Stiles’s twitching length. Stiles watched, transfixed and helpless, as he got into position, bracing on his knees on either side of Stiles’s hips. He took hold of Stiles’s dick and lowered onto it, taking Stiles into his heat.

“Oh God,” Stiles whimpered, shuddering and biting his lips together.

“‘Peter’ is fine,” Peter said, grinning when Stiles let out a snort of laughter. Peter began to move. He wasn’t slow and easy about it either, instead moving fast and harsh in a way that really got Stiles going. 

“Oh fuck,” Stiles whined as he was ridden hard, his legs twitching around like he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to dig in his heels and thrust up into Peter or just lie there and take it. He eventually decided the second, especially after Peter leaned back and set his hands on Stiles’s knees, his own cock slapping against his belly as he moved. God, Stiles would have wrapped his hands around it if they weren’t bound.

Peter rode him _hard_ , leaving him whining and crying out Peter’s name. He pulled at the binds on his wrists, wrapping his fingers around the slats of the headboard. Peter didn’t listen to any of his begging, if anything riding him harder, moaning out as Stiles’s dick dragged against his inner walls. 

“Oh God, Peter, I’m gonna come, please let me come,” he pleaded, feeling part low in his body seizing up, his balls drawn tight to his body. 

“Do it, Stiles, come in me,” Peter gasped out, staring down at Stiles with his eyes piercing. 

Stiles could only comply, arching up and screaming out Peter’s name as he came into Peter’s wet, clenching heat. His eyes probably rolled back in his head, and he definitely saw white. When he came back to himself, probably not even a minute later, Peter was still rocking in his lap. The man had his hand on his cock, stroking as he moved, and when he came it was with a shout, strings of come covering Stiles’s stomach.

Peter sagged, holding himself up with his hands on either side of Stiles’s head. He smiled down at him, before leaning in and kissing him gently. “You are perfect,” he told him, before he brushed his nose over Stiles’s cheek. 

“Mm, you too,” Stiles replied sleepily, shutting his eyes.

He let Peter lift off him, take off the condom and wipe down his front. Then Peter gently undressed him, unhooking the garter belt and pulling it off with the panties and stockings. He wrapped his naked self around Stiles’s equally naked self in a cocoon of blankets, and soon they were both sighing in contentment. 

“Did you have a good birthday?” Stiles asked in a soft voice.

Peter hummed and leaned up a bit to kiss Stiles’s cheek. “The best.”

* * *

The elephant attraction in Bali was called Sweet Home Elephant Sanctuary, and as the plaque in front of the establishment read, it had rescued over fifty elephants from cruel conditions, such as circuses and sideshows. Unfortunately, they couldn’t be released into the wild, so they were given long term homes at the sanctuary. 

The enclosures in the sanctuary were huge, and the elephants inside looked happy to be just lounging around or tossing dirt over their bodies. The ones that were in their pools sent water flying when they shook their large heads with their big, leathery ears.

“This is Budi, one of our bulls,” the tour guide said, gesturing to a large elephant with only one ear. “He was a circus elephant for about twenty years before we were able to seize him. When we got him, he had a serious infection in the skin of his ear. Unfortunately we weren’t able to save the ear, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s perfectly happily. Here, watch this.” The guide turned completely toward the cage. “Hey, Budi, Budi!” That caught the elephant’s attention, and he gave a mighty trumpet, and every laughed and cheered.

The guide led them around on a long path, and the final enclosure was barely more than a short fence. Up at the back of it was an elephant and her much tinier baby, which came running toward the crowd. The guide stepped over the fence and intercepted the baby, patting its head and getting hugged around the leg.

“This is Cahaya,” the guide said, continuing to pat the little elephant’s head. “She was born here almost six weeks ago. Now, all of our bulls are fixed, because we don’t need babies. Cahaya’s mother, Melati, was pregnant when she came to the sanctuary. She was in the early stages of her pregnancy, and we didn’t know until she started to show. Then we started to get her prenatal care.” He held his hand out, and the baby elephant laid her trunk in it. 

“Ever since she was born, she’d been super friendly with the staff. “She will definitely eat right out of your hand if you want her to.” The guide looked toward the crowd. “Does anyone want to give it a shot?”

“Oh, me!” Stiles said, putting his hand up immediately. He didn’t care about the chuckles that popped up around him. He wanted to feed a baby elephant.

The guide brought him a small bag of dried fruit, telling him how to hold his hand flat so the elephant could take the food. Then he was instructed to step into the enclosure. The baby elephant made a little noise as he approached, swinging her trunk, before she reached up and took the fruits out of his hand, sticking them in her mouth. Then, she was his absolute best friend.

He kept feeding her out of the bag until the fruits were all gone, and she kept reaching for more. “Sorry, there’s no more,” he told her as her trunk quested around on his hand and up his arm. She reached up with her trunk and pawed at his face, which made his grin as he squeezed his eyes shut. He peered back at her when she dropped her trunk, before she gave a parting toot and trotted back over to her mother. He laughed, looking over at the crowd and finding Peter with his phone up, recording the whole thing.

People back home were going to get a total kick out of that.

* * *

On the last day of their vacation, it rained. It was kind of a bummer, because they planned to continue practice their surfing that day, but at the same time it was just so soothing that neither of them could get mad. 

They ended up taking all of the sheets, blankets and pillows from the house and piling them into a nest on the back patio, which was covered. This way they could watch the rain and cuddle with each other. And of course the cuddling escalated, so they made sure to bring lube and condoms too.

Stiles moaned softly as Peter slowly stretched his hole, letting his head fall forward. He was on his stomach, his cock trapped between his stomach and the sheets, and Peter was kissing at his shoulders. “Ah, Peter,” he moaned as Peter added a third finger, spreading them apart gently.

When Stiles was ready, he quietly pleaded for more, and Peter pulled back just enough to put on a condom. Then Peter was laying over him, pressing in with a barely audible groan. Stiles let out the tiniest of whimpers, before he pressed his face into the pillow.

This was new for them, sex without any sense of dominance. There was nothing here but raw emotion. Stiles could feel himself opening up and filling with Peter’s essence. He took it and hid it away in his chest, his heart thumping against the ball of warmth. 

He let out soft grunts at the slow rolls of Peter’s hips, and Peter was breathing in his ear. Peter got his arms underneath Stiles, wrapping around his chest. Peter kissed at his neck, nuzzling against his hairline. He could tell this was going to be a long one, and he was fine with that.

Stiles was more than fine, because he could feel Peter everywhere, all over like a blanket. He just wanted to stay there, safe and warm forever, and Peter seemed content to keep him there. So he just focused on the pleasure, the pitter patter of the rain and the thunder rolling in the distance. 

He didn’t even know that he was close until the pleasure was creating and he was moaning softly into the pillow. Peter nuzzled at the back of his neck, gave another two or three thrusts then stilled himself. Peter maneuvered him out of the wet spot and pulled off the condom. He was gathered into Peter’s arms again, and he purred as Peter pulled a blanket over them. He fell into a doze almost immediately, listening to the rain and Peter’s soft breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> It should be known that I made up pretty much everything about the elephant sanctuary. There is an Elephant Safari Park in Bali, but it had some bad reviews in the way of animal abuse. I didn't want to give it any sort of mention if they are abusing their animals. So I made up one like the Big Cat Rescue, which is a great organization.
> 
> The next chapter is just a whole lot of sex, whee! I took several comment suggestions for what's going to happen next chapter.
> 
> ~~Next chapter by **10/5/14.**~~
> 
> Update: Next chapter by **10/12/14**. Author is really sick!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which there are many orgasms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> This one took a while to write, but it's a long one, whee. I'm over my sickness, finally.

“Oh my God, you’re getting smooched by an elephant!” Lydia squealed.

Stiles grinned, holding his phone up for her to watch the video. She and Allison cooed and tittered as Cahaya pushed her trunk across his face, searching for more goodies. He was happy that Peter had taken the video and sent it to him, because he had a feeling people wouldn’t believe him without proof. Scott and Isaac had reacted the same way as the girls, before they’d gotten distracted by their gifts.

“So tell us all about Bali,” Allison demanded.

They were sitting at one of the picnic tables in the quad, surrounded by the books and notes for various classes. Stiles was nursing an iced latte, trying to wake himself up before his morning class. He grinned, thinking back on the past week. It had been such a perfect vacation the he could hardly contain himself.

"I want to move there and live my life as a beach bum," Stiles said with a quiet sigh. "On the first day we went swimming at the private beach connected to the house Peter rented—a house, just for us! It was amazing. We had surfing lessons, and I can sort of surf. I just have an issue when I'm supposed to hop off. The food—oh my God, the food, you guys. It was out of this world."

Stiles was never going to get over how great of a time he'd had. "The elephant sanctuary was an experience of a lifetime. I mean, you saw it." He went on to tell them about the rest of the trip. He told them about how Peter fell asleep while sunbathing on the private beach, and Stiles managed to get his torso buried before he woke up. Peter had chased him after that, shoving a handful of sand down the back of his shorts in retaliation. That had Lydia and Allison in stitches.

"We went to the most beautiful temples too," Stiles said, scrolling through his phone and handing it over when he located the pictures he took. "It was like walking through the most peaceful place in the world. The gardens were legendary." He leaned his cheek on his hand, sighing softly as he remembered walking hand in hand with Peter under archways and over bridges.

"The last day we were there, it rained," he said, accepting his phone back. "And I thought we were going to be bored, but we just laid out on the back porch and held each other. And when we had sex, it was like..." He trailed off with a dreamy sigh.

It was like making love.

Lydia and Allison gave him knowing looks and soft smiles, and he just blushed to the roots of his hair as he covered up his grin with his hand. 

"So what did you ladies do over the break?" he asked them by way of a diversion.

* * *

Peter and Stiles’s mouths crashed together in a hot, urgent collision. Peter pulled at Stiles’s clothes, dragging his shirt over his head and tossing it away. He undid the front of Stiles’s pants with quick fingers then pushed them down along with his underwear.

"I am going to whip your ass so you can hardly sit," Peter said, before he turned them around and grabbed the leather cuffs off the bed to bind Stiles’s hands in the front.

“Please,” Stiles moaned, testing the bonds before he was turned and bent over the side of the bed. He tangled his fingers in the sheets, looking at the riding crop that was laying there so innocently. They’d talked about this a few times. Stiles wanted a little more sting to his beatings, and Peter assured him this was the way to go about it.

Stiles moaned as Peter got his hands on his ass, kneading the flesh and getting the blood circulation going. Stiles was sure the flesh was flushed pink by the time Peter was done. He couldn’t help but wiggling his ass back and forth. That got him a smack, and he let out a squeal of a laugh.

“Cheeky,” Peter said, grabbing the riding crop from the bed.

“Just be glad I’m not twerking,” Stiles replied, before he yelped at the harder slap on his ass.

Peter didn’t keep him waiting after that. He smacked the length of the whip across his ass cheeks, making him grunt. It was a sharp pain, much more so than a hand, flogger or paddle. The pain made him jump, but he immediately stuck his ass back out again for more.

The whip made crisscross patterns across Stiles’s ass and upper thighs, and he found himself crying out with each strike. He couldn’t even start to compare this to something he’s experienced before. It was so sharp, a real pain that had only an edge of pleasure. He loved it though, knew endorphins were racing through his body and making him heady with it. 

An extra hard strike made him jerk with a cry, and he closed his eyes tight as the pain tingled up his spine. Okay, that one actually hurt a lot. He was probably going to have a welt stretching across his ass. The next strike was just as painful, and he sucked in a breath. 

It was too much, too far on the side of painful. He had thought he could take it, but he didn’t think he could. He was about to safeword out when the strikes stopped all together. He looked over his shoulder after a moment of silence, finding Peter standing there, his arm trembling as he held the riding crop.

Peter took a step back. “Red,” he said, continuing to back away. He dropped the whip and dragged his hand down his face. “I need to stop.” 

Stiles pushed himself up, worried now, even as his ass stung like a bitch. He twisted his hand around to take off the cuffs, freeing his hands and walking over to Peter. He touched his cheek with one hand and one of his tremor ridden fists with the other. 

“Tell me what’s wrong?” he asked, trying to gently pry Peter’s hand open.

“I wanted to hurt you,” Peter told him in a low voice, not meeting his eyes. Like he was ashamed.

“Isn’t that kind of the point?” Stiles tried, keeping his voice mellow even though he didn’t understand at all. 

Peter turned his blue eyes on Stiles for a second before looking down. “Not like that. I mean really hurt you. I was getting too into what I was doing, the swing and the impact. I wanted to breath your skin, to make you bled and give you scars.” He dragged in a breath. “I don’t know why. The only thing I know is I had to stop.”

Stiles drifted closer, taking both of Peter’s fists in his hands. “I get it,” he said, and Peter gave him an incredulous look. “I do. I get lost in this sometimes too. And it’s good you could make yourself stop before you did any real damage. You’re a good dom.” 

Peter gave him a slightly desperate look, before he masked it. His hands loosened, and Stiles laced their fingers together. “Don’t worry about it, okay? You didn’t harm me.” He leaned his forehead against Peter’s. “I’m okay. I wouldn’t let you go to town on me anyway. I was about to turn around and ask you to lighten up. We’re both responsible here.”

Peter seemed to consider that, and finally his shoulders slowly sagged, and he leaned into Stiles. So Stiles put his arms around him with a soft ‘aww’. He never got to see Peter like this. The man always keep himself in complete control. He must have been really bothered.

“Let’s get hydrated, okay? Bet you had one hell of a work out there,” Stiles said with a bit of a laugh, and he tilted his head down to see Peter smiling a little. Victory.

Stiles got a purple Gatorade for them to share, taking a drink and handing it over to Peter before going to sit down—and stand right back again. That sure stung. His ass felt like it was on fire. 

“You okay?” Peter asked, and Stiles looked over to find him smiling against the lip of the bottle, before he took a few long gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing. It made Stiles want to lick him. All of the doubt was gone from his eyes, and that was the fastest recovery Stiles had ever witnessed.

But he had witnessed it. Stiles moved over, taking the bottle from him and climbing up over his lap, straddling his thighs. Peter put his hands on Stiles’s hips, leaning in to mouth against his jawline. “Feel better?” Stiles asked as he took long drags from the Gatorade bottle. Peter just rumbled out a noise into Stiles’s neck, making him smile. “Good.”

Stiles just drained the bottle while Peter sucked a bruise on his shoulder near where his collar sat. It felt good, that distracting point of pain against the throb of his ass. With the Gatorade gone, he tossed the bottle toward the trash and completely missed but the intent was there, so no one could criticize him. He put his hands in Peter’s hair and let out a little moan as Peter kissed his way up to bite at his jaw.

“Mmn—can I ride you?” Stiles asked as he dragged his nails through Peter’s dark hair. “There should definitely be some riding happening here soon.”

“You sure you’re up for that?” Peter asked, lips brushing over Stiles’s skin. “You might want to take it easy for a bit.” His hands traveled down Stiles back and very lightly cupped his ass, and even that made Stiles gasp. “Maybe give yourself a moment to heal.”

Stiles’s ass felt so hot, all his blood rushing there to heal the strike marks and bruises. He pressed down against those hands, feeling the pain bloom up his back. “Oh yeah,” he breathed, and he looked down to see his dick standing hard and proud between them. “So up for that.”

Peter smiled, and he was right back to the Peter that had expressions like a predatory jungle cat. “Get the lube and a condom,” he said, releasing Stiles’s ass.

Stiles scrambled to obey, nearly ripping out the drawer of the nightstand. He grabbed a condom and the bottle of lube, offering them to Peter eagerly.

Peter took the condom but left the lube. “How about your prepare yourself? I’ll watch.” His smile was evil.

Stiles let out a distressed noise, because he was already worked up, and now Peter wanted him to focus on a slow task? That was just mean. 

He watched Peter undress, his shirt coming off slowly, followed by his jeans and underwear. Then he scooted back on the bed, reclining against the pillows like a king.

Stiles sat down next to him before he remembered that sitting down hurt, so he got onto his knees. He opened the bottle of lube, slicking up his fingers while he kept his eyes on Peter’s. He reached down between his legs and ran his fingertips over his hole. He wasn’t gentle about it, too impatient to be. He wanted to open himself up fast, to get on Peter’s dick right then, no matter if it hurt. 

Peter seemed to pick up it and shifted, reaching out to grab his wrist. “One finger for now, don’t get eager,” he said, raising his brows that said if he didn’t mind him than nobody was getting fucked the way they wanted.

Stiles shifted forward, bracing himself on his free hand so he could reach further with the one between his legs. He slipped his finger in and out of his clenching hole, knowing he could take more. He groaned, giving Peter a look. “C’mon, I can take it.”

“I know you can. Use another finger,” Peter purred to him, and Stiles whimpered, pressing another finger inside himself and starting to move them both in and out. “That’s it, give yourself some time to open up.”

Whimpering, Stiles fell down to his elbow, putting his other shoulder on the bed and panting as he spread his fingers inside of himself. He felt Peter’s hand in his hair, petting gently, stroking fingers over the back of his neck.

“Almost there, one last finger, Stiles,” Peter murmured to him, scratching his nails lightly over the back of Stiles’s neck.

Stiles pressed in a third finger with a tiny noise, before he spread them out. This was the kind of stretching he craved. He groaned, tilting his face up and giving Peter a pleading look. “Am I ready yet?” he asked breathlessly.

Peter hummed like he was considering it. “Possibly. How much do you want it? Tell me, Stiles. Use your words.” 

Oh, Stiles had some words alright. They were quite vulgar. He let out a noise like a growl, before he shifted up onto his hand. “Please,” he said, and there was a definite note of sarcasm to it. “Oh, Peter, please let me ride your cock until I’m screaming. I’ll die without it.”

Peter snorted and rolled his eyes, before he picked up the condom and ripped the packet open. “Well, since you ask so very nicely, I suppose I’ll let you.” He rolled the condom down his dick and grinned cheekily at Stiles. “Hop on.”

Stiles didn’t laugh, but he made a weird noise as he stifled it. He shifted over Peter, one knee on either side of him, and he reached down to grab his dick at the base. Lowering himself down was like scratching an itch he hadn’t been able to reach. He didn’t even try to hold back the moan as Peter filled him up to the brim.

He was starting to think he could have sex with just Peter for the rest of his fucking life and that would be hunky-dory.

“Ah, that’s good,” Peter murmured, getting his hands on Stiles’s hips. “Come on, ride me like you mean it.”

So Stiles did. He didn’t even start with a slow rhythm, instead planting his knees and starting to bounce. With every slap of his ass against Peter’s thighs, a pain shot up his spine, but it was promptly soothed by the fact that Peter’s cock was dragging against his prostate.

He set his hands on Peter’s chest, feeling hard flesh and a bit of scar tissue. Peter’s grip tightened on his hips, directing the speed he was going, which was _fast_. 

Stiles put his head back, gasping and listening to the slap of skin against skin and the soft ‘ah, ah’s coming from Peter’s mouth. His own cries were high and loud, shameless like he’d been trained. It was freeing even now, nearly eight months in.

“Gonna come?” Peter asked, sounding just a touch ragged. “Look at you. You’re obscene.” He dragged his nails down Stiles’s back. “Come for me, Stiles, come on my dick.” He raked his nails over Stiles’s ass and the backs of his thighs.

The shock of it was like lightning through Stiles’s system, and he came before he could even think about it. It came in thick spurts across Peter’s stomach, his body quivering, and his muscles clenching rhythmically on Peter’s cock. He heard Peter let out a noise and could feel his dick twitching as it filled the condom with come. 

Stiles tilted as all the strength went out of his body, and Peter grabbed him to help control his fall so he went face first into the pillows. Peter shifted him around so he was lying on his stomach, shimmying the way out from under him. He laid there as Peter cleaned up, only jolting a little when Peter ran a soft washcloth in the crack of his ass.

The bed tipped a little as Peter climbed in again, and Stiles was ready for him to curl up next to him, but instead he heard the pop of a cap, and soon he felt Peter soothing something over his ass, some kind of thick liquid. He turned his head and looked at Peter, who showed him the bottle. “Skin rejuvenating lotion,” he muttered, blinking. “You’ve never used that on me before.”

“I’ve never abused your ass quite to severely before,” Peter replied.

Stiles had to admit the lotion was nice on his burning ass. “Wouldn’t change a thing,” Stiles told him, just in case he was feeling guilty again.

Peter smiled, soft and sweet.

* * *

Stiles was sitting in the quad when his phone started to sing with the Jurassic Park theme. He smiled over the books laid out in front of him, before he picked up his phone and slid his thumb across the face. "Hey," he said warmly. "What’s up?"

"Hey, not a lot," Peter replied, and it sounded like he was on speaker phone. Maybe he was driving. "You have a long break between your classes right now, don't you?"

"Yeah, another hour and a half," Stiles said, tapping his highlighter against the book he was reading.

"Have you had lunch already?"

Stiles shifted his elbow onto the table. "Nah. I was going to grab a cookie or something from one of the on campus delis, nothing special." 

"How about I grab us something from Panera Bread?” Peter suggested.

Stiles blinked. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“I’m out anyway. I’d like to see you.”

Stiles couldn’t help the goofy smile that spread across his face when Peter said that with such ease. “I’d like to see you too,” he told him, fighting off giggles.

“Good, I’ll see you in a little bit.” 

When Peter arrived, after texting Stiles to see where he was, he came with a roast turkey and avocado BLT and a cup of broccoli cheddar soup for Stiles. That was surprising, because he remembered what Stiles liked even though they’d only been Panera Bread once in their relationship. Stiles was delighted.

They sat and talked about what had gone on in the three days since they’d seen each other last. Stiles told Peter all about the finals that were coming up at the end of the month. Peter told Stiles about how the masquerade he was throwing at Teeth was coming together.

“Do you still want to go?” Peter asked before putting the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Peter smiled at him, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

* * *

Stiles had lost control of the noises he was making, and he was probably drooling a bit into the pillow under his head. He let out a whine as Peter moved four fingers in and out of his slicked up hole, stretching him farther than he’d ever gone. And he was only halfway there.

“Keep breathing, Stiles,” Peter said to him, his voice low and even, and Stiles gasped out a breath after realizing he was holding it. “That’s it. I’m going to use my thumb now.” 

The sound that left Stiles’s lips when Peter’s whole hand entered him was shameful. He felt like he was going to be split apart, that there was no way that he could stretch that far, could take Peter’s fist. But he could feel the fingers curling inside him, and he let out a whine as he felt knuckles pressing hard against his prostate.

“Fuuuuck,” he whined, scratching at the sheets as the fist in him started to move. “Peter, Peter,” he begged as he rocked his body back with each movement. “Can I—please, I need to—” 

“Go ahead,” Peter purred from above him. “It won’t be your only one.”

That promise brought him to a shivering orgasm, his whole body tensing and releasing as he let out a string of disconnected curses and blasphemies. He sagged against the bed, not caring if he was lying in the wet spot. He couldn’t summon up enough brain cells to care about anything at all.

He felt the fist unfurl and slowly pull out, and he was so loose that clenching didn’t make his ass feel less like a canyon. “Peter,” he moaned, shifting his head to look at him with one open eye.

“Mmhm,” Peter replied, leaning over to kiss his hair. “Still want to continue?”

Stiles just nodded, whimpering. He’d asked for this, deliberated about it and asked endless questions. He was nothing if not recklessly curious about new things, and Peter knew just how to ease him into things.

Fisting had been new, but it was only to work him up to what he really wanted.

The bed shifted as Peter moved, and soon there was a blunt force pressing against his hole again. It wasn't Peter's fingers this time, and Stiles moaned as he remembered the long, thick dildo that Peter had pulled out of his collection for this.

Stiles pressed back against it, taking it inside and feeling it drag along abused flesh and rub into his prostate. His own dick twitched in interest, starting to fatten up both from the feeling and the promise of more. 

His refractory period was a trained creature now.

“Look at you,” Peter said, a smile in his voice. And Stiles opened one eye to look at him again. “So greedy for it, my beautiful Stiles. Fuck, you make me want to wax poetic about your gorgeous ass.”

Stiles let out a snuffle of a laugh, but it turned into a moan immediately as Peter pressed the dildo in to the base. He clawed at the sheets as he pressed back, lifting up onto his knees slowly, his legs a bit like jelly. He could feel his dick dangling between his legs, leaking.

“That’s my boy. I’ll give you what you want,” Peter said, and the bed shifted again. “I’ll always give you what you want.” 

There was a low whine from Stiles’s throat as the dildo shifted in him and something else pressed against the rim of his hole, slowly opening him up and sliding in alongside the dildo. “Fuck, fuck,” Stiles bit out, because being stretched like this was nearly on the wrong side of pain. He took a few settling breaths, feeling the second intrusion throb inside him.

“Okay?” Peter asked, his hand sweeping up and down Stiles’s lower back.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed out in a shiver, barely able to comprehend that alongside the dildo, Peter was inside him. He couldn’t brain at the moment. “Fuck me, c’mon,” he whined.

“Yes, dear,” Peter said, and Stiles snorted out a laugh that turned into a long moan as the dildo and dick started to pound in and out of him, not even bothering to work up to a hard pace.

It was exactly what Stiles needed. He just gave himself over to the barrage, his whole body quaking with the force of Peter’s thrusts. It was like every part of him was feeling the bliss, from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. He began to lose himself in it, eyes glossing over and panting mouth letting out little grunts.

Everything was pleasure then, and he didn’t even know if he was coming or if he was just splitting apart at the seams. He couldn’t tell, his brain too caught up in everything to distinguish. He screamed at one point, probably. He couldn’t tell for sure. He was floating.

When he came back to himself, Peter had rolled him onto his back and was running a warm, wet cloth over his chest, stomach and dick. It made him shiver. And when he ran it between his legs, cleaning his puffy hole of lube, he let out a whine.

He felt himself come down from his high fast—like a meteor crashing into the Earth. He sniffed, all those endorphins leaving his system and leaving him as empty as his ass. He didn’t know why, but his eyes were tearing up and he suddenly felt awful. He reached up and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, feeling the dampness slip through the press of skin against skin as pearl before dropping down into his ears. 

“Stiles?” came Peter’s gentle voice, and Stiles moved a hand to look at him, bottom lip trembling. “Stiles, darling, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles blubbered, feeling ridiculous as he scrubbed at his face. “I’m just really s- _sad_ all of the sudden. I’m sorry.” He bit his quivering bottom lip, trying to get it to stop.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Peter said, shifting to lie down so he could pull Stiles against him. Stiles clung to him like a depressed koala. “I figured this would happen eventually. It’s subdrop. What you’re feeling is an endorphin crash.”

“How do I make it s-stop?” Stiles asked, burying his face against Peter’s front, probably getting tears and an unfortunate amount of snot on him.

“You wait it out,” Peter said, rubbing his back up and down. “Don’t worry. It shouldn’t last too long.” He shifted away, like he was going to leave.

Stiles unashamedly proceeded to cling to Peter like a security blanket. “Don’t go,” he whined. 

Peter leaned in and kissed him, which was probably gross because Stiles’s nose was running, but Peter didn’t shy away from him. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” He moved away, grabbing his boxers and pulling them on.

Stiles watched Peter leave the room and let himself just cry. He wiped at his face and sat up, feeling groggy and heavy and just all around not good, like he’d taken cold medicine or something. He looked down the bed at where his own boxers were lying, and he tried to get them to come to him via the Force. It didn’t work, and he made a little sound of discontent before sniffing loudly.

Peter came back into the room carrying the fluffiest looking duvet in the whole world. He laid it out on the bed then rolled Stiles onto it before wrapping him up like a burrito. Stiles could only sniff in confusion as he was picked up and carried out of the room. He couldn’t help but let his eyes droop as he was sat down on the couch.

Stiles watched Peter go into the kitchen and listened to him rummage around for a bit before he came back with two steaming mugs. “Careful, it’s hot,” Peter said as he handed one of the cups over to Stiles.

Unburying his arms from inside the duvet, Stiles took the mug by the handle and looked at the contents. He gave a watery smile at what he saw. “Hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows,” he said, sniffing. 

“Of course,” Peter said, taking a sip of his own mug, and from the smell it was some kind of tea. He leaned over and grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table, before he started to wipe at Stiles’s face.

Stiles blew his nose into the tissue when prompted, feeling overly babied. But Peter didn’t seem to mind. He just wrapped one arm around Stiles and silently sipped at his tea. Stiles leaned into him, blew into his hot cocoa then took a sip. He couldn’t help his little noise of pleasure when he tasted the silky, sweet liquid.

“Is this from a mix?” he asked, breathing the chocolate in.

“No, you deserve better than that,” Peter told him with a bit of a huff.

Stiles smiled a little, one tear slipping free and rolling down his cheek. He was going to wipe it away when Peter leaned in and pressed his lips against the tear track, before he ran his lips up and kissed Stiles’s eyelashes. Stiles let out a wet giggle at that.

“Do you want to watch something?” Peter asked as he pulled away. He leaned forward and grabbed the remote, eventually bringing up the DVR’s guide. “Anything you want.”

Stiles watched the menu scroll a bit, before he let out a little ‘oh!’ when he saw something. “Can we watch The Avengers?” he asked, blinking his sore eyes at Peter.

“Of course.” Peter selected the movie, and it came up, only about ten minutes in.

“Thanks.” Stiles sighed, leaning against Peter and nursing his hot chocolate. He felt better already.

* * *

Stiles couldn't stop staring at Peter. Ever since they'd arrived at the club and Peter had taken off his coat to reveal his masquerade outfit, Stiles had been lost. He was wearing a leather jacket, completely unzipped to show his toned chest and stomach. His leather pants clung to him like a second skin. If Stiles stared hard enough he could see the outline of his crotch. Peter had on tall leather boots too, halfway up his calf. His fingerless leather gloves were just _guh_. And lastly was the black domino mask.

He looked like a superhero. Sir Leather Daddy, the defender of kink, beater of asses.

He kept these thoughts to himself as he belatedly pulled off his own long coat to reveal his outfit for the night. It wasn't much. He had on a pair of red booty shorts, his collar and high top black Converse. Crisscrossing over his torso was knotted black rope, obscene in the way it spanned across his chest, stomach and tops of his thighs but covered nothing. His mask was larger, flared, and it was red with black lace.

He probably looked like Peter's sidekick. Bondage Boy, the super twink. 

Stiles had a moment to wonder what their powers would be before Peter took his hand and led him into the main rooms of the club.

The first people they met were Julia and Kali. Julia was wearing a long black dress with a high slit and a feather boa. Her shoes were simple black kitten heels. She had a dainty feather mask on a stick. 

Kali had on bikini shorts and a bodice that laced in the front and gave her cleavage for days. She had on long leather black gloves and thigh high black boots with heels that made her even more of an amazon. Her collar, which was attached to a lead in Julia’s hand, was spiked like a scrap yard guard dog’s. Her half mask was curled at the edges to sharp looking points.

“Wonderful party, as always,” Julia said, lowering her mask and smiling at the both of them. “You look absolutely adorable, Stiles.” She reached out as it to touch the ropes crossing over his body, but she seemed to change her mind and dropped her hand. She recovered quickly. “I’m planning on doing a short paddling show.” She tugged Kali’s leash a little, and Kali made a weird noise like a growl.

“I look forward to it,” Peter said with suave ease, smiling. “If you’ll excuse us, I need to greet the rest of my guests.”

“Of course,” Julia said, lifting the mask to her face again. “Come along, Kali.” She tugged her sub away.

Stiles watched them go, his gaze drawn to Kali’s butt. He still found her terrifyingly beautiful. As Peter continued to move, he hurried up to wrap his arms around one of Peter’s. “Have you ever thought about leading me around on a leash?” he asked.

“A few times,” Peter replied, looking at him. “I figured you wouldn’t enjoy that sort of humiliation.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Stiles admitted. “At least, not in public.” He gave Peter a look through his eyelashes. 

Peter gave him a smile. “Noted.”

They wandered around the club, greeting people and getting looks at other costumes. Boyd and Erica were wearing corresponding outfits. Erica was in an all white teddy and underwear ensemble. She had on a small pair of white wings and her white mask had a little halo attached. Boyd was in a tight pair of black pants that left little to the imagination. His black mask curled into points at the top like horns.

“It’s too bad that Scott and Isaac couldn’t come,” Stiles said as they continued on. “I bet Scott would have tried to dress up as Batman, and Benji wouldn’t even let him in the door.” 

Peter snorted. “Would that make Isaac Robin?”

Grinning, Stiles shook his head. “More like Catwoman, or maybe even Poison Ivy if he was feeling creative.” 

That earned a laugh from Peter. “Why aren’t they here anyway? I invited them.”

“They’re doing some serious studying for finals. They got started late because they were too busy playing Call of Duty.”

“And you’re prepared?” Peter asked.

“I always do all my studying before I see you. It’s my self imposed deadline, and it’s working so far.” He leaned his head against Peter’s shoulder. “I like not having to worry about anything when we’re together.”

Peter smiled and gave Stiles a kiss on the forehead.

The met Ennis and the twins, who were all wearing leather pants and now shirts. Ennis was wearing a white mask over the right side of his face like the freaking Phantom. And the twins were in gimp masks, which the less said about that the better.

Lydia and Allison looked radiant, of course. Stiles hurried to give them both hugs and compliment their outfits. Lydia had on a beautiful dress that started off orange at the top then faded through pinks, red, blues and finally into purple. Like a sunset. Her mask was style like the sun too with reaching orange and red tendrils. Allison was the opposite, wearing a black dress dotted with silver specks. Her mask was a crescent moon, painted silver. 

“I guess you two are all set for your finals as well?” Peter asked the girl.

“I’m always prepared. I know the formulas backwards and forwards, and I have an email from my professor promising me that what I’ve been studying will be on the test,” Lydia said, sounding almost smug.

“I’m okay too. But I plan on studying more. There’s still another week before the testing starts,” Allison added.

“Good to hear,” Peter said, as if he would have scolded the lot of them for neglecting their schoolwork. 

Eventually they ended up sitting near the stage where Julia was tying Kali’s hands to the Saint Andrew’s cross. Stiles leaned into Peter, his shifting causing the knot in the ropework around his chest to shift. The knots rubbed lightly against his nipples, and he had to fight not to make a noise. He watched as Julia undid Kali’s shorts enough to pull them down and expose her ass.

It was a nice ass. Stiles had probably thought that more than a few… hundred times.

Stiles tossed his legs over Peter’s legs, and Peter laid his arm over his knees, unbothered. Stiles huddled against his thigh and watched Julia pick up a wooden paddle. It looked like twelve inch oak, and it had five holes in it. It wasn’t the most painful paddle to use, but then again, Julia wasn’t punishing Kali.

The first smack was loud, and Kali let out a bark of surprise. Julia didn’t waste much time before striking her again, and Kali released an audible growl. Laughing softly, Julia really laid in on her, not letting Kali’s ass have much time to throb or for the sting to lessen before she struck her again.

Stiles was transfixed. He couldn’t help but have a fascination at the way Julia, who looked like a delicate woman at first glance, was strong enough to bring someone like Kali to tears. Watching the muscles in her arm bulge and her teeth grit as she swung was like seeing a beast beneath so much beauty. 

“Like what you see?” Peter asked into his ear, and Stiles jerked in surprise. Then he grunted as Peter slid his hand between his legs and cupped a bulge he didn’t know he had. “Having fantasies about Julia paddling your ass?”

Stiles blushed hard, which was an impressive feat given all they’re done together. “No, just thinking about how I wouldn’t mind if you paddled me more often.”

“That so?” Peter asked, squeezing his cock through his shorts. “That’s what you’re thinking about? Me paddling your sweet ass until you can’t sit?”

Stiles let out a soft but embarrassing sound. “Y-yeah, please.”

Smiling like the fiendish creature he was, Peter deftly undid the front of Stiles’s booty shorts and freed his hard cock. He started to stroke it even as Stiles let out a squeak of a noise. 

“What if someone sees?” Stiles hissed, looking around them. They were in a darkened corner, sure, and there was a spotlight on Julia and Kali, so everyone was watching them. But still.

“Isn’t that part of the fun?” Peter said, leaning in to mouth at Stiles’s jaw. “The possibility of getting caught is what makes it thrilling, isn’t it?”

Stiles bit his lip, looking around again. Well, it was weirdly exciting thinking that they were so close to someone looking over or even one of the employees coming over to talk to Peter. Finally he nodded, shifting his legs apart so Peter could stroke him with better ease.

Peter wasn’t in any hurry, instead just moving his hand up and down lazily, his eyes on the stage. Stiles looked too, his mouth falling open as he let out little pants in time with the hand on his cock. The sharp noises of the paddle on Kali’s ass made his dick jump, and he was way too close already. 

“Ah, Peter,” he whispered, leaning his head on the other man’s shoulder. “I’m gonna—can I?”

“Go ahead,” Peter told him with a smirk across his lips.

Stiles came with a stifled noise into Peter’s shoulder, right as there was a sharp crack and a loud cry from the stage. He felt hot come coat his belly, and he couldn’t seem to stop twitching. 

Then Peter was pushing him out of his lap and down onto the cushions. Stiles couldn’t even ask what he was doing before he leaned down and started to lick the come from Stiles skin. He tilted his eyes up, a shockingly bright blue in the darkness, before he grinned into his skin as he finished cleaning him.

“You’re totally depraved,” Stiles murmured to him, and it was practically an endearment.

“You love it,” Peter replied lightly, doing up his shorts again.

“I do,” Stiles sighed, grinning.

* * *

Stiles was in super school mode. He was all learning, all the time. That meant he was taking a lot of Adderall so he could completely pay attention in class. All his cramming sessions seemed to be sticking too, so he was totally set for finals in three days. Hopefully. Probably.

He walked out of his psychology class, his head buzzing with information. He needed to go to his child development class and take rocking notes. But as he rounded the corner in the hall, he nearly ran right into Lydia.

“Jesus!” he said, grabbing his chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Lydia looked frazzled, but he couldn’t blame her. Majoring in mathematics meant all numbers, all the time, and numbers made Stiles nervous.

“You weren’t answering your phone. I called you at least three times and left you a dozen text messages,” she said, her eyes wide.

“I turned my phone off,” he said, blinking at her. “My professors have been really anal about—”

“Peter’s been in a motorcycle accident,” Lydia cut in.

Stiles felt his heart seize. “Is he—?”

“He’s alive. He’s at the hospital. I was about to go over there.” Lydia looked like she was ready to break every traffic law too.

“Take me to him,” Stiles demanded, and they rushed out together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hurt me.
> 
> Thanks always to [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale) for the read.
> 
> Next update by **10/19/14.** Probably sooner.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles only wants to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> It's still Sunday! This is still on time, I swear! xD

"Hi, we're here for Peter Hale," Lydia said as they approached the nurse's station. She grabbed Stiles's hands because he kept wringing them. He was a total wreck. She was cool as a cucumber on the outside, but he could tell by her widened eyes and biting of her lip that she was just as worried as he was.

The nurse look between them. “Are you family?”

Lydia huffed. “I’m his emergency contact, and this is his boyfriend," she said, indicating to them accordingly. 

The nurse glanced at her computer. "Lydia Martin?"

"That's me," Lydia said, and that got them the room number.

They hurried down the hallway until the reached the right room, and they all but burst into it. Peter was on a bed, fully dressed but for the leather jacket he always wore when riding. He had a cast on his right forearm, mostly covered by a sling. He blinked at them hugely as they came in.

"Heeeey, guys," he said with a sloppy smile. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Uh oh," Lydia said, walking over to see on the edge of the hospital bed. "Somebody's drugged."

"Oh yes," Peter said, letting his head loll to one side. "They had to set my arm, and they gave me the good stuff." He sniffed, and rolled his eyes over to Stiles. He lifted his good arm and made a grabbing motion with his hand. "C'mere."

Stiles was trying not to laugh as he walked over and sat across from Lydia on the bed. He grabbed Peter's hand and lifted it to kiss his palm before he laid it across his cheek. "You had me worried," Stiles told him, proud of himself for not being on the verge of tears. 

Peter could have _died._

Peter huffed liked he was offended, and it was kind of a cute gesture with him all loopy. "Not my fault some dick bag ran the light, now is it? Didn't wanna go flipping over the front of his car. Just how it turned out." He let his head flop back, yawning widely. "My poor bike."

"Forget the bike," Lydia told him, and he looked at her. "You could have been very seriously injured. You're lucky that you only came away with a broken arm." She started to dig through her purse.

"And two broken ribs," Peter informed them, and Lydia gave him an annoyed look as she pulled a black marker out of her bag. "Not that I can feel them right now." He watched as Lydia uncapped the marker and moved the sling back a bit to reveal the cast.

'Get better soon, dumb dumb' she wrote, before she signed it with her elegant script.

Stiles took the marker when it was offered to him. "Just wait until the medicine wears off," he told him as he wrote. 'You're not allowed to die' was his message, both that and his signature a messy scrawl compared to Lydia's.

A doctor came in then, holding a clipboard and pen. "Hello, I'm Dr Jacobs. I was the one that set Mr Hale's arm and put on the cast." He stepped closer to the bed. "Your friend is on quite a few heavy painkillers, and he'll need more through his recovery." He held out a slip of paper, which Stiles took and looked at. "That's a prescription for Vicodin. He can take it as needed."

Stiles stared at the incomprehensible writing, nodding. He folded it up and put it in his pocket. They could drop by a pharmacy later.

The doctor went on to tell them instructions on taking care of Peter. He wasn't to get his cast wet. He shouldn’t drive after taking his meds. And lastly he should get plenty of rest while he was healing, at least give his ribs time to stop being so sensitive before he went back to work. 

"We'll keep an eye on him," Lydia promised the doctor.

They didn't let Peter leave the hospital on his own two feet. He looked a little disgruntled when a nurse wheeled him out in a wheelchair, not because they didn't let him walk, but because they didn't let him fly down the hall at top speed. He even said ‘please.’ Stiles was wheezing with laughter by the time they made it to the doors.

"I'll go get the car," Lydia said, walking off into the parking lot.

Peter was looking around languidly, like his surroundings were barely worth a glance, and he eventually just dropped his head back and stared upward. "I think I'll get a Harley instead of a sports bike," he said, before he looked at Stiles. "We'll look hot on a hog."

Stiles smiled at him. "Sure," he replied, not sure what else to say.

"Red," Peter went on, waving his good hand in the air. "Or yellow. I've always been partial to green too."

"Harleys come in colors other than black?" Stiles asked, because he really didn't know.

Peter took on a pinched expression. "They should." 

Lydia drove up then in her sky blue Audi, and she got out to help Peter into the passenger seat. 

"I can do it," he complained in a petulant whine, a tone Stiles had never heard out of the man's mouth before. Peter grunted as Lydia buckled him in, looking a bit grumpy now.

As they drove, Peter played with the radio, going from pop song to pop song. Lydia kept looking at him like she wanted to smack his hand but didn't. At least Peter didn’t sing. That would have just ended Stiles right there.

They reached the apartment building and Lydia parked in the spot usually occupied by a sleek motorcycle. As they got out, Peter was insisting he was fine and Stiles allowed himself a moment to mourn for that bike. He would miss riding on the back and clinging to Peter. He was always just a little turned on after every ride.

On the way up to the top floor, Peter looked like he wanted to press all the elevator buttons, even gravitated in that direction, but Lydia calmly held his good hand with her own. Once they were at the door, Lydia pulled Peter’s keys out of his pocket and opened it up, pulling Peter inside like a mom guiding a kid.

"Are you going to be okay, Peter?" Lydia asked as she hung the keys on their hook.

Peter seemed to think about it, before he did a snap and point toward the kitchen. "Pasta," was his answer as he headed in that direction.

"Oh dear," Lydia said with a sigh.

"I'll watch him," Stiles told her. 

"Okay, don't let him burn down the building." They both looked over as the sound of pots clanging together came from the kitchen. "Here, give me his prescription." She held out her hand, and Stiles gave her the slip of paper. "Peter!" she called.

"Yeah?" Peter responded after a second. 

"What pharmacy do you use?"

"The CVS down the road. Can't miss it."

"Okay, you look after him and I'll take care of this," Lydia said to Stiles, waving the paper in the air. "You have a morning class, right?"

"Not tomorrow. Noon class first." Stiles was suddenly aware he had other responsibilities than just a doped up Peter.

"I'll come and pick you up for it." She paused. "Or do you want me to pick you up early so you can change beforehand?"

"I have clothes here." He smiled, remembering how ecstatic he'd been when Peter cleared out a drawer and some closet space for him. It had been a Big Thing to him.

Lydia returned his smile with one of her own. "Call me if you need me." She stepped around him and headed for the door.

"'Kay." When she was gone, he headed for the kitchen and found Peter giving a jar of red sauce an annoyed look. "Did that marinara insult your mother?" he had to ask. He thought he was funny.

Peter gave him an owl eyed look, before he snorted, smiling a bit. "I have discovered the limitations of only having one good hand." He wiggled the fingers of his cast bound hand and sighed. 

"Let me help," Stiles said, opening the jar with a pop and dumping it in the awaiting pot. He tended to the boiling angel hair noodles too, stirring them and checking how soft they were.

He felt Peter watching him for a while before he grumpily mumbled something and headed out into the living room. "Hey, kitty!" he said after a minute, and Lady Godiva responded with a happy little meep. 

Stiles just smiled to himself as he stirred the sauce. He wasn't prepared for Peter to start baby talking and cooing at the cat, but he managed to stifle his giggles when Peter called his cat a 'beautiful naked lady' and 'the best kitty ever.' He peeked out into the living room and found Peter holding the cat like a baby with his good arm and giving her chin a scratch with the other.

Stiles went and put food on plates, transferring them over to the table. "Food's up," he said, and he watched Peter give Lady Godiva a loving smack of a kiss right on her face before putting her down so he could get up. She rubbed against his legs a moment before running to happily scratch at her tower.

Peter took a step toward the kitchen and stopped, his face screwing up. "Oh no," he said, sniffing. "I'm going to sneeze." He put his hand against his nose, rubbing. "The doctor told me to avoid sneezing with my broken ribs." He pinched his nose and tilted his head back.

"Mayonnaise," Stiles said, hoping to use the high school tactic of confusing someone out of a sneeze.

Peter stared at him a long moment and sneezed anyway. “Oh fucking Christ in a handbasket!” he cried, holding his ribs with his good hand.

“What.” It wasn’t a question.

Peter wheezed, putting on a pained smile. “I have inventive swears. When Malia was little, I used to say ‘jeezy cheezy on a saltine cracker’.”

Stiles didn’t know how to react to that. But he was pretty sure Peter wouldn’t have told him that if he were sober. It was downright goofy.

Peter sneezed again and nearly doubled over with the pain. Stiles moved over to him, touching his shoulder. He was about to ask if he was okay, but Peter pushed him away. “I’m okay.” He straightened up, rubbing his ribs. “I’m okay, really.” 

“If you say so,” Stiles said, heading into the dining room. He could tell that Peter was the type to refuse aide, even when doped up on painkillers. He knew Peter liked to control everything, and this was no different. He probably only let Stiles handle the cooking because he’d gotten distracted by the cat. 

Peter left the sling on the couch. He was at least able to articulate his fingers and eat with little difficulty. They were both pretty silent over their meal. Stiles wasn’t sure what to say, and Peter seem preoccupied with not getting sauce all over himself with his limited wrist motion.

Eventually Peter lifted his head, his brow furrowing. “I wonder what happened to my helmet,” he said, his eyes darting from side to side.

“Maybe it’s still at the hospital?” Stiles suggested. “I could go by there tomorrow after my classes and check.”

“That’s alright. I can drive over there,” Peter said, going back to his meal.

“‘Kay.” Stiles endeavored not to feel shot down. He had to keep telling himself that Peter didn’t like giving up control. He was probably feeling babied at the moment, and of course he didn’t like that. He was a grown ass man in his forties, totally independent for however long.

When they were done eating, Stiles went to pick up the plates, but Peter beat him to it. He ended up grabbing their glasses so he would have something to do. "Here, let me wash up," he insisted, snatching the sauce pan and taking it over to the sink.

"I can do it," Peter countered.

"You might get your cast wet," Stiles said, pulling the pan away from Peter's reaching hand. "I had a cast on my wrist when I was little. I got it wet and it smelled god awful the entire time I had it on."

"You won't be able to do my dishes the entire time I have my arm in a cast," Peter told him. He must have been sobering up because he was getting grumpier by the minute.

"Says who?" Stiles countered, turning around to start scrubbing at the pan. Peter sighed behind him, and Stiles heard him walk off. Stiles knew that it ticked Peter off that he was impaired, but eventually he would realize it was okay to have help.

When Stiles was done, he went out into the living room and found Peter sitting with his laptop over his thighs and his cat nudging her face against it as he typed. Stiles sat down on the other side from the cat and pressed his cheek to Peter’s shoulder, peering at his computer screen. "What'cha doin'?" he asked in the most annoying way possible. The page up on the screen was full of Harley motorcycles.

Peter snorted, turning his head to kiss Stiles’s hair. "Looking at bikes, mostly. I'll get a new one when I get my cast off." He scrolled a moment. "You know, I thought I was going to die when that car pulled out in front of me. I could have easily broken my neck or my spine."

"But you didn't," Stiles said, rubbing his cheek against Peter's shoulder in a good impression of the cat. "And that's what matters. You could have gotten hurt a lot worse too. Imagine if you'd broken your leg. You'd have to get a scratching stick." 

Peter snorted, rolling his eyes. “I would gnaw my own leg off if I’d been bound to a wheelchair or crutches.” 

“It’d be easier if you would let me help you out,” Stiles told him, giving him the sweet face. Peter could never really resist it.

Peter stared at him out of the corner of his eye, heaving a put upon sigh. “I don’t need to be tended to like a child."

"I'm not doing that. I'm just helping a little. You should be resting and healing, not worrying about your ego." Okay, that came out harsher than he'd intended, but it was the truth.

Peter gave him a narrow-eyed look, before he closed the laptop with a snap and stood up. "I'm going to take a shower." He set his laptop on the coffee table and headed toward his bedroom.

"Wait," Stiles said, getting up too, and Peter looked back at him. "You need to wrap your cast. Do you have plastic wrap?"

Peter pressed his lips into a line, looking annoyed at not realising, before he pointed toward the kitchen. Then he turned and kept walking. Stiles hurried into the kitchen, looking through the drawers and pantry until he located the plastic wrap and went after Peter.

Peter was undressing when Stiles went into the bathroom, and he gasped at what he saw. Peter had road rash along his right side—painful looking shallow gashes. It made him look raw, and he was surprised Peter didn’t want more meds. He must have been in serious pain. But Peter looked like he hadn’t even noticed, though he made a face at the inside of his black shirt where it was smeared with blood and bits of scab.

"Why didn't the hospital clean and dress these?" Stiles asked, brows going up as his concern grew.

"They didn't see them," Peter replied, opening his medicine cabinet and pulling out antibacterial soap. "They were more concerned with my arm and ribs. I didn't take off my shirt for the x-ray." He dropped his shirt, and his hands went to his pants, pushing them and his underwear down. Thankfully it looked like the rash stopped at his ribs.

Stiles was caught staring when Peter turned toward him and held out the arm with the cast. He jumped with a little 'oh!' and started to wrap it with the plastic sheeting. He wrapped it tight, curling the plastic over Peter's fingers so there weren't any holes that sneaky droplets could get through. Peter turned away and started the water, and Stiles fidgeted.

"Can I join you?" he asked, giving his best puppydog eyes when Peter looked at him. “I’ll wash your back.”

Peter let out a long breath. “Well, get undressed,” he said, before he stepped into the shower. 

Stiles did, quickly, and he jumped into the shower after Peter, who was standing in front of the spray and wincing as it hit the rash along his ribs. The water ran pink down his leg and into the drain, all dried blood and extra bits of scabbing. Stiles watched as Peter struggled a bit with the soap dispenser, unable to squirt it onto his good hand when his other hand was wrapped in plastic. Stiles took the bottle and pumped it into his palm. Peter used that to scrub over the rash, gritting his teeth as he did so. The foam turned pink just like the water, and it was painful to watch.

When Peter was done, the rash looked raw and so painful that Stiles just stood there and stared at it with with his hand over his mouth. He let out a tiny scream when Peter turned and ducked his head under the spray. “Does that really hurt?” he found himself asking. “I mean, it’s on scar tissue.”

Peter snorted, looking over his shoulder at him as water ran down his face and dripped off his eyelashes. “Yes, it hurts. Now what’s this about you washing my back?”

Stiles hopped to. He ended up washing Peter all over, avoiding his bad arm and the rash. Peter letting out a shuddering sigh as Stiles washed his hair, his nails scraping lightly over his scalp. He washed himself quickly, squeezing his eyes shut against the spray of water as he rinsed off.

When they were out of the shower, Peter toweled himself off without help, and it was awkward looking. Stiles helped him undo the plastic wrap and free his hand, and Peter flexed his fingers. 

“I have some gauze under the sink,” Peter said, pointing, and Stiles went to open it immediately. “There’s medical tape too.”

Stiles laid the gauze and tape along Peter’s side with firm direction. Peter was probably only letting him do this because it was impossible one-handed. That was okay. Stiles was there to help Peter do whatever he needed, even if Peter was a bit of a brat sometimes. When he was done, he followed Peter out into the bedroom where they pulled on some clothes. Stiles went with a pair of briefs and plaid sleep pants, while Peter just pulled on some boxers and made a beeline for the bed.

“I’m suddenly exhausted,” Peter said, lying down and letting out a long sigh.

“You’ve had a long day. It’s not surprising,” Stiles told him, following behind. He climbed up onto the bed on Peter’s right side, wanting to cuddle up next to him but knowing that it would cause him pain to have any pressure on his side.

Peter looked at him and shifted closer. “C’mere,” he said, turning on his side and looking like he was about to reach out for Stiles when he stopped and pressed his good hand to his busted side. “Okay, not like that. Can you get on this side?” he asked, indicating to his left and turning on that side.

“Sure,” Stiles said, climbing over Peter and trying hard to avoid his road rash. He put his back to Peter and scooted close so Peter could put his arm around him. It felt fine to him, though the cast was hard and unforgiving against his skin. 

Peter kept shifting, trying to find a good position, but eventually he let out this frustrated growl and withdrew. “That’s not right. I can’t put my arms in a good position.”

Stiles looked over his shoulder at him, taking in his pinched expression and frowning. “We don’t have to…” he mumbled, and Peter gave him an unhappy look. Peter wanted to cuddle. He was a serial cuddler, and it was probably his biggest secret, but Stiles had his number. So Stiles sat up. “Here’s let’s try it this way,” he said, climbing back over Peter again and pressing up against his back. He curled one arm under his pillow and draped the other over Peter’s waist.

Peter shifted a little, getting comfortable, before his good hand found Stiles’s, and their fingers laced together.

“This is okay, right?” Stiles asked against Peter’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Peter replied in a sigh. “This is fine.” His fingers squeezed Stiles’s gently.

* * *

Going back to school was going to be hard. Lydia was going to be there any minute, and all Stiles could think about was Peter. Was he going to be okay? He couldn’t open jars by himself, for fuck’s sake. Stiles just wanted to sit him down and spoon feed him jello until he got better. He definitely didn’t want to leave him.

Peter insisted that he was fine, though, his voice a bit irritated. So Stiles left, mostly because Lydia dragged him out before he could ask after Peter one more time.

His classes were incredibly slow, mostly review for their finals. Stiles kept checking his phone for texts from Peter. He asked how he was doing at least five times, and Peter stopped answering after the third. Stiles couldn’t really blame him. Stiles just felt so responsible for Peter. They were together, and it was usually Peter who was the caretaker. Now that he couldn’t be, Stiles wanted to step into that role and in a big way. Peter deserved to be pampered anyway.

Once his classes were over, Stiles sent off a text to Peter that said, **I’m done. I’ll be there soon.** After a moment, he sent another one. **Did you go check to see if the hospital has your helmet?**

 **I didn’t yet, no,** Peter sent in response.

 **I’ll go by and see. I can drop by your pharmacy and get your pills too,** Stiles tapped out, before he headed outside to where his jeep was parked.

 **Alright,** was Peter’s answer.

When Stiles reached his Jeep, he was pondering grabbing food too. He’d do that after he went to the hospital. The excursion actually turned out to be fruitful because a nurse fetched the helmet from the lost and found box, saying that Peter was lucky to be alive. There was a skid mark in the paint of the helmet where it had met the road. Peter was lucky not to have brain damage, let alone a concussion.

Before he went to grab some food, he went to the CVS that had Peter’s prescription. While he was waiting in line, he pulled out his phone and texted to Peter, **I’m grabbing some food. What do you think, Chinese or Thai?** He was definitely thinking spicy.

 **You just want to see me struggle with chopsticks, don’t you?** Peter replied, and it was hard to tell if that was a joke or not. Stiles hoped it was. **General Tso’s shrimp from Beijing Garden would be great.** Well that was friendly enough.

 **Done,** Stiles sent back, before he stepped up to the counter. “For Peter Hale, please.”

After he got the food, he headed to Peter’s apartment, parking his car in the extra space and looking sadly as where the motorcycle usually sat. He was pretty sure Peter would be back to riding the moment he was healed. 

Peter held his hand out for the helmet, which had his pills inside, and let out a little whistle at the scrape on the side. "Guess I'll have to get a new one of these too," he mused. Then he took his pills out of the helmet, setting it down in the entryway. Stiles followed him to the dining room, where they started to divvy up the food.

Stiles didn’t say a word when Peter grabbed a fork instead of trying to use chopsticks with either of his hands. Stiles used a fork too as a sign of solidarity (and because he was hungry enough to want to shovel his sesame chicken into his fast with efficiency). They were quiet as they ate. Stiles’s eyes kept flicking over to Peter, but he seemed to be focused rather intently inward and on his food. Stiles didn’t have much to talk about other than finals and what was going on with Peter anyway. 

When they were done eating, Stiles stood there and Peter gathered everything up and disposed of the waste.Then they headed into the living room to watch some TV. Stiles sat on Peter’s left side and laced their fingers together, leaning his head on his shoulder and sighing contently. Peter had the remote, and he landed on a rerun of Leverage after a moment of searching. He let the remote rest between his legs and leaned back.

Stiles let his eyelids slip down a little. This was nice; just them enjoying each other’s company. He liked listening to Peter’s breathing as Eliot, Hardison and Parker ran around getting into trouble, all the while Nate and Sophie acting like begrudging parental figures. Stiles wasn’t really paying attention, instead nuzzling his cheek into Peter’s shoulder. 

“Your finals are this week, aren’t they?” Peter suddenly asked, and Stiles lifted his head to look at him. “Shouldn’t you be studying?”

Stiles tightened his grip on Peter’s fingers. “I’m okay. I’ve been doing really well at the reviews in class. I’ll cram like crazy the night before, and I’ll do well.” He straightened up more. “Not trying to kick me out, are you?”

“No,” Peter said seriously, eyes sliding away like he was already on another subject in his mind. “What are you doing for the summer?”

“Oh, usually I go back home, but I thought I’d take a couple summer courses,” Stiles said, turning and tucking his foot under himself. “Wouldn’t hurt to get some extra credits in while I can.”

“So you’ll be staying at your dorm over the summer?” 

“Uh, not the whole time. I have to apply to get housing. I won’t know if I get it until late May, so I’ll go back to Beacon Hills while I wait.” He sighed. “It always sucks unpacking and then repacking so quickly.” He shrugged, because what could he do, really? Them’s the breaks.

Peter gave him a considering look. “Why don’t you stay here while you get all that worked out?”

Stiles blinked hugely at him. “What?” was the first thing out of his mouth, followed quickly by, “Really?”

Peter nodded. “Only if you want to. I can understand if you wanted to go back to Beacon Hills to be with your father. I’m just offering an alternative.” His eyes flicked away and then back again. “No pressure or anything.”

Stiles had never seen Peter quite so unsure. He lifted a hand and touched his cheek, smiling. “I’d love to stay here,” he said, and Peter smiled in response. Stiles leaned in and kissed him, giddy now. 

Peter smiled against his mouth, twisting more so he could tilt his head into the kiss, but then he jerked with a grunt. He let go of Stiles’s hand and pressed it against his ribs. “Ah, fuck,” he murmured, wincing as he held his side. “Okay, can’t do that.” He leaned back against the couch, rubbing at his side.

Watching him, Stiles shifted closer. “Should I get in your lap, you think?” he asked, and Peter seemed to consider it a moment before he nodded. Stiles climbed over him to straddle his thighs, shifting his weight up on his knees so he could lean over Peter slightly. He took his face in his hands and kissed him again, moaning softly when their lips parted. 

Peter licked into Stiles’s mouth, and Stiles sucked at his tongue. He felt Peter’s hand slide up his thigh, over his ass then to his back, curling in the fabric of his shirt. Stiles tilted his head a bit more and lifted more onto his knees. He felt arousal stir in him as he pressed against Peter’s front.

But then Peter was gasping in pain and pushing him away, almost completely off the couch in his haste to get Stiles off his front. He held onto his side and, eyes closed tight and teeth bared in a grimace.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Stiles said, putting a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s okay,” Peter gritted out through clenched teeth.

It so obviously wasn’t okay. Okay wasn’t in the same room with the feeling Peter looked like he was having. Stiles didn’t know what to do. It’s not like he could take his pain away in any shape, form or fashion. All he could really do was look on and watch Peter suffer. 

Then it hit him. “Oh, wait,” he said, scrambling up and going into the kitchen. He located the bottle of vicodin and poured a glass of water. He came back out with his bounty and offered it to Peter with a smile. 

Peter looked at the pills a long moment before he finally shook his head no, then let his head flop back onto the backrest of the couch.

Stiles stared at him. “You don’t… want to take the pills that will make you feel better?” he asked slowly.

“I don’t like the way they make me feel. Like my head’s full of fuzz,” Peter said, his voice heavy laden with pain. He was still holding his side.

“Well, yeah, that’s why they say not to drive or operate heavy machinery after taking them,” Stiles replied, before he sat down next to Peter. “Come on. You’ll feel so much better in like twenty minutes.”

“I would rather be in pain and clear headed than without pain and inhibited. I’m fine.” Peter was gripping the couch cushion with his finger even as he said that.

“You _not_ fine,” Stiles said, frowning deeply. “You’re in pain, and you don’t have to be.” Peter was being a fucking brat about this, and Stiles didn’t understand _why_. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be that evening.

“Stiles,” Peter said firmly. “I’m not going to get all drugged up again so you can have a laugh.”

Stiles scowled at him. “That’s not why I want you to—”

“Dammit, Stiles, I said I’m fine!” Peter barked, and silence resonated afterward, loud in Stiles’s ears. Peter pushed himself up, wincing and grinding his teeth. “I’m going to go lie down. Stay or go, your call.” He walked down the hall, going into his bedroom and closing the door behind him with a click.

After staring after him a while, Stiles got up, went into the kitchen to pour out the water and put the pills back in the bottle, and left.

* * *

Stiles drove around for a while, just making turns at random and staying within the same ten block radius. He did that for about a half an hour, his last interaction with Peter playing over and over in his head. What had he done wrong? He only wanted Peter not to be in pain. Was that so bad? Sure, he was a bit pushy, but if Peter wasn’t going to tend to himself, then he needed someone to do it for him. 

Finally he just had to stop, or else he was going to use his entire tank of gas on going in circles. He sat there and just concentrated on his breathing, the grip on the steering wheel and the stinging in his eyes. He shed a few tears in the privacy of his Jeep, before he wiped off his face and grabbed his phone. He needed some advice.

Lydia picked up the phone with a distracted sounding, “Hello?”

“Hey, you got a minute?” Stiles asked, and his voice was nowhere near steady. He bit his lips together in shame and annoyance.

Lydia voice was much softer now. “Sure, Stiles, what’s up?”

Stiles sniffed and wiped his now running nose. Great. “I dunno. Peter and I just had what I guess you would call a fight. We certainly weren’t agreeing.” He leaned over to open his glove compartment. He fished around a second to find some napkins he probably got from Sonic or somewhere and blew his leaking nose.

“What happened?” 

“He yelled at me. We were just talking about where I was going to stay during the break—he offered to let me stay there while I figured out my housing for the summer.” Stiles sniffed loudly.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, taking in a ragged breath as his eyes started to mist up again. “It was after that. His ribs started to hurt, and I tried to get him to take his medicine so he wouldn’t be in pain. He refused. I insisted. He refused again. I insisted again. Then he yelled at me and basically told me to get out, so I did, and I’ve been driving around crying like a moron.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” Lydia said, before she sighed. “I’m not exactly surprised to tell you the truth. Peter hates feeling vulnerable. You know how controlling he is.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles said, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye. “But I thought that since we’re together, he’d let me take the reins for a bit, you know? Just until he’s better.”

“I can’t really see that happening,” Lydia told him. 

“Is it…” Stiles bit his lip. “Is it because of his scars?”

Lydia sighed. “Yes. He had a tough time for a bit. I can’t really tell you about it. It’s too personal. Peter didn’t tell me until we’d been friends for almost two years.”

“Damn,” Stiles said, before he swallowed. “What should I do? Should I act like nothing happened and text him later or wait until he apologizes?”

“He probably won’t apologize,” Lydia told him matter-of-factly. “He can be a total brat when he thinks he’s right. Give him a day and see if he texts you. He does care about you, Stiles. He wouldn’t let you go over something stupid. Just give him time.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, sniffing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale) for the read!
> 
> The story's almost over! :D One more chapter.
> 
> Next chapter by **10/26/14**.
> 
> Edit: Fixed some formatting.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just need to yell at each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).

Peter didn't try to get in contact with Stiles for the rest of the day. Stiles kept checking his phone constantly just in case, but no dice. He knew he wasn't going to sleep well that night. He would rather cuddle up to Peter’s side and have an arm around his back than sleep all by himself. 

He gave a heavy sigh as he stared up at the ceiling. The only light in the room was a street lamps glow, seeping in through the blinds and casting long, dim lines across the wall. He sighed again, missing Peter's light canceling drapes.

"Dude," came Scott's irritated voice. "What do you keep sighing about at one in the morning?" 

Stiles turned his head and looked at his friend. They had their English final in nine hours. But Stiles couldn't fall asleep. "I'm thinking about Peter."

"No, really? Never would have guessed," Scott said, and he must have been tired because he was rarely sarcastic. He shuffled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. "Lydia said to give him time, right?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, trying not to pout.

"It hasn't even been a full day," Scott told him matter-of-factly, before he yawned wide enough to pop his jaw.

"I know, but we've never fought before. I don't know what to expect from him. What if he doesn't talk to me for a whole month?" He was afraid of texting or calling him, because he didn't want to be pushy or clingy, but he was scared.

"Stiles," Scott said, and Stiles looked at him again. "I don't want to be mean, but you have more important things to worry about right now, like passing all of your classes."

Stiles tried not to scowl. "You act like it's the end of the world when you and Isaac are fighting."

Scott was silent for a heavy moment. "Yeah, I know. But it never is the end of the world. And it won't be for you and Peter either."

Huddling into his blanket, Stiles heaved a sigh again. "I guess."

"We have two days of testing to get through," Scott reminded him. "If he hasn't contacted you before they're finished, shoot him a text when they are."

Stiles wanted to wiggle around with a whine. He wasn’t good at waiting. “Fine,” he eventually said, sprawling and pushing his his bottom lip out. “But I’m not going to like it.”

Scott’s response was a loud fake snore.

* * *

Stiles barely slept, and in the morning he was a complete zombie. Scott, who was somehow a ray of well rested sunshine, tried to get him to drink some orange juice, but he needed something stronger. He went to the campus mini store, which held all kinds of things essential to college life, like pens, notebooks, scantrons and energy drinks. Stiles bought a tall can of Monster and a 5 Hour Energy, drained them both and then took three Adderall.

When everything kicked in, Stiles was so wired that he could see through time. He finished his first final and felt great about it. The answers had just popped out at him. Same for the next test he took. His energy started to wane at the end of his final test, and he was reverting back into zombie mode.

He wanted to go back to his room and crash, but he got roped into a dinner trip to Freebird's by Scott and Isaac. Scott was determined to make him eat. Allison and Lydia met them there, and Lydia gave him a hug, murmuring that everything was going to be okay.

They didn't make him walk through the line, thankfully. Instead he waited at the table with his forehead against the surface. Scott knew what he liked anyway. He tried not to fall asleep as he waited, and he was losing that battle when a burrito and a drink was set in front of him. He looked up just in time to see Lydia slide over a brownie as well.

He didn’t talk as he ate, instead just focusing on his chicken, bean, rice and avocado burrito. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he started to chow down. He half listened to Lydia and Isaac talk about their math final, but it mostly sounded like a foreign language to him. And he was good at math.

He ate two-thirds of his burrito before he unwrapped his brownie and started to eat it, pulling off small chunks and plopping them in his mouth. Somehow the conversation had turned to tattoos, and Scott was showing off the two bands on his arm, which Isaac just had to squeeze, and the Comedy and Tragedy on his ribs.

When they left, Stiles could hardly stand, so Lydia took pity on him and drove him to the dorm so he wouldn't have to walk and fall dead somewhere. Her words. Stiles barely managed to to strip down to his boxers when he got to the dorm room. He just face planted into his pillow and was asleep in seconds. At least that kept him from thinking about Peter.

* * *

Stiles woke up before his alarm, probably due to the fact that he had passed out at the late hour of 7pm. He stared up at the ceiling and felt almost too awake. He wanted to do something productive, like go for a run, which was ridiculous because he hadn’t done any running since high school lacrosse. Scott was still sleeping on the other bed, curled up in his blankets and snoring softly into his pillow. Stiles found the sound soothing, which was probably why he hadn’t smothered his best friend yet. It wasn’t enough to lull him back to sleep though, so he got up, shutting off his alarm.

He took a shower, like he’d failed to do the day before, and went out to get breakfast. He got kolaches, breakfast burritos and doughnuts, bringing them back to the room. Scott was awake, sitting in his bed and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He looked pleased to see food, and they both ate on his bed, sitting in companionable silence. 

“You ready for this history final?” Scott said eventually, looking more awake and a bit like he’d gone through a wind tunnel that blew his hair all over the place.

“Totes,” Stiles said, grinning. He was completely ready for this round of testing. It was European History and Child Development today, and he felt like he was prepared for both of them. Then he was be a free man until the summer classes started, so nearly a month. He wanted to run around naked to celebrate.

Peter probably would have let him do that, he thought, his mood dampening immediately. Right, Peter. They still hadn’t talked. Stiles pulled out his phone and stared at the face, wanting so badly to text or call him. Usually they exchanged good morning texts if they hadn’t spent the night together. He wanted this stupid silence to end.

He decided that he was going to text Peter after his tests were over. He would have nothing in the way of them spending time together. Peter had been worried about him studying and stuff, right? 

“Ready to go, dude?” Scott asked, freshly showered and all smiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, getting up and grabbing his bag. “Let’s do this thing.” 

They headed to the testing building together, and about three hours later they met out in the front again, both of them looking pleased with themselves. 

“I can’t believe I knew the majority of those answers,” Scott was saying, an elated smile on his face. “I think I did well. How about you?”

“Pretty sure I did okay,” Stiles said, his grin matching his best friend’s. “There wasn’t a point where I just didn’t know an answer, so that’s a good sign.”

“Yeah.” Scott pulled out his phone, no doubt texting Isaac.

Stiles dug his phone out of his bag and brought up Peter’s contact info, sending off a text that read, **Done with my tests, think I did great! Can I come and hang out at yours today?** Then he stared at his phone for a full minute, waiting for an answer.

“Hey, Isaac wants to get Genghis Grill today, you in?” Scott asked.

Looking up, Stiles frowned, before he nodded. “Yeah, I’m in,” he said, tucking his phone away.

The rest of the day went just like that. Stiles kept checking his phone, getting more and more depressed as the hours went on and Peter didn’t respond.

Eventually he ended up in a bar, not because he wanted to drink his trouble away but because Allison and Lydia invited him, Scott and Isaac out for a night of celebration. They were all done with their testing, so it was time for tequila shots and dark beer. 

“Alright, alright, sake bombs all around,” their friendly waitress said as she brought them their shot glasses of sake and tumblers of beer. “You guys going to race?”

“Hell yes,” Scott said, taking his shot glass and holding it over his beer. Everyone else mirrored him.

“Alright, and go!” their waitress said, and they all dropped their sake into their beers before starting to chug them. “Go, go, go!” she cheered, laughing, before she clapped when there was a winner, whose hand she grabbed and held up. “Whoo, way to go—what’s your name, darling?”

“Lydia,” came a coughing and laughing answer.

“Go, Lydia!” The waitress gathered their glasses. “So what do you guys want now?”

“Definitely tequila,” Scott said.

“Got it, sugar,” their server said, before she headed back to the bar.

“Are we trying to get hammered tonight?” Stiles asked, sipping at some water. After two beers and a sake bomb, he was feeling nice. He appreciated his friends dragging him out. He would be sitting on his bed staring at his phone otherwise. 

“That’s why we walked here,” Allison said with a giddy little giggle.

They kept drinking until everything got a little fuzzy around the edges. That was when the bar’s dance floor light up with winking lights and music started to play. Allison dragged Lydia into the throng of night crowd dancing bodies. Stiles immediately realized he was about to be left alone when Scott gave Isaac this look, and Isaac sighed before getting dragged off.

“Didn’t wanna dance anyway,” Stiles muttered to his beer, before he took a big gulp of it.

He continued to nurse his beer as the songs played around him. He didn’t want to watch the dancing, figuring that would just make him feel more lonely, so he just stared out the window at the traffic. Another beer later and he was thinking about walking back to the door alone.

“Hey handsome, care to dance?”

Stiles looked over toward the source of the voice, ready to tell them that no, he didn’t care to, when the words died in his throat. “Peter?”

Peter gave him a soft smile, before he sat down in the chair Scott had vacated. “Hi, Stiles,” he said, crossing his arms on the table. “Lydia texted it me to tell me you look lonely.” He licked his lips. “And that I’m an asshole for how I treated you.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, just watched as Peter dropped his eyes and slid them across the table. He wasn't going to disagree with the truth.

"I can't say I'm sorry though," Peter finally says. "I'm not going to apologize for how I acted because it wasn't out of line. I tried to get you to stop treating me like a child, and you didn't. I was upset for good reason."

Stiles stared at him a long moment, and Peter stared back, looking for a response. "I don't agree with that at all," he finally said, and Peter clenched his teeth together. "I wasn't trying to baby you. I just wanted to take care of you, to help you with your pain. And you snapped at me."

Peter looked down at where his good hand was overlapping his cast bound hand. "That was a lesser show of character," he said.

"You think?" Stiles heaved a sigh and looked at his beer cup, draining the rest of it. "I'll stop trying to do everything for you if you want me to, but you need to let me help with the stuff you can't do on your own." He slid a hand over and touched Peter's elbow. "Okay?"

Peter licked his lips and nodded. "Okay."

Stiles smiled finally, squeezing Peter's elbow. "You're probably going to have to remind me of this conversation, because I am blasted," he said with a giggle, before he scooted his chair closer to Peter and laid his cheek against his shoulder.

Peter turned his head and laughed into Stiles's hair. "You are an eloquent drunk," he commented lightly.

"Two more shots and I'll start slurring in Polish," Stiles said with a sloppy grin. Peter just snorted in amusement, so Stiles wrapped his arms around Peter's and looked out at where their friends were dancing. 

"Did you do well on your finals?" Peter asked eventually.

"I think so," Stiles replied, lifting a hand to signal at the server. She nodded to him in response. "I won't know for certain for three days, then all the test results will be posted online."

“Ah,” Peter replied, before he looked over as the waitress brought Stiles a new beer.

“Anything for you?” she asked Peter, as Stiles picked up his beer and started to gulp it down.

Peter shook his head. “No, thanks.”

Stiles drank almost all of his beer before he spoke again. “So, you offered me a dance," he said, giving Peter a sloppy grin.

Peter looked like he wanted to slide under the table and hide for a second, before his face went calculatedly blank. "I did. But be aware that I haven't danced in public since my early thirties."

"Yeah, I figured it wasn't your scene. It's not really mine either." Stiles gulped down the last of his beer and wiped off his lips with the back of his hand. "I dance the way newborn animals walk."

"Unbalanced and awkward?" Peter asked, his lips quirking up at the corner. When Stiles nodded, and gave a little chuckle. "Then perhaps we should wait for a slow song."

"Yeah," Stiles said in agreement, before he laid his head back on Peter’s shoulder, content for now.

It took a while, almost long enough for Stiles to pass out, but eventually a slow love song started to play. Peter took his hand and led him to the floor, where he locked his hands at the small of his back and pressed close. Stiles wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck, pressing their foreheads together and giving a delighted little sigh at the contact.

It was easy to forget they’d had a disagreement at all when they were swaying to a crooning song about love and happiness in someone's arms. Peter's cast may have been a bit awkward against his back, and Stiles may have been trying not to put too much pressure on Peter’s ribs, but it was still perfect. It was even better when they looked at each other at the same time and leaned in to kiss.

Joy rippled through Stiles’s body as the kiss went on. He opened his mouth to Peter’s questing tongue and let out a little noise. It felt like it had been years since they kissed, since they touched, and Stiles wasn't going to let it happen again. He wasn't going to let Peter shut him out ever again.

When the song ended, Stiles was a bit dazed. His buzz was still in full effect, and now his mouth was tingling, swollen and spit slick from kissing. He let Peter lead him back to the table, and the others followed behind them.

Peter took Scott’s seat again, and Scott made a bit of noise about getting another chair when Isaac just pulled him into his lap. Scott seemed content there, one of his arms over Isaac's shoulders and his feet dangling since Isaac was so tall. He looked happy and kind of drunk. They all looked drunk, and Lydia was giggling for some reason.

"More shots?" Allison suggested with a huge, slightly crooked smile.

"Yes! All the shots!" Scott cheered, fist pumping the air.

Three tequila shots and one sake bomb later, Stiles stopped remembering what was happening.

* * *

When he woke up, his mouth tasted like butt, his head was pounding and he really needed a shower. He felt hot and gross, and he slid out of bed, trudging his way to the bathroom and slipping out his his smelly clothes.

Once he was a presentable human again, he located his bottle of ibuprofen and took four, before he set the bottle on the nightstand by a still sleeping Scott. He headed out and walked to the nearest place that served curly fries, needing the grease, the salt and the starch to settle his unhappily rumbling tummy. The diner next to campus had what he needed, so he ordered a double curly fries and a Coke.

He didn’t mind eating by himself, especially since it looked like the diner was full of hungover students that just wanted to be left alone. As he ate, he people watched out the window, glad for the relative silence as the throbbing in his head slowly bled away.

After he'd eaten nearly all his fries and was just picking at them, he texted Peter, **Is it cool if I come over in a little bit?**

 **That’s fine,** Peter texted back almost immediately. **How hungover are you?**

 **Better than I was when I woke up,** Stiles replied. His hangover was just a dull pain that he could easily ignore now.

 **Do you remember much from last night?** Peter asked.

Stiles tried to remember as much as he could, squinting at his phone. **I remember us talking. Then we danced. It gets fuzzy after that.**

**I drove everyone home,** Peter explained, and Stiles was glad he hadn't walked, because he could have ended up in a ditch somewhere. **Then I made you drink a bottle of water before pouring you into bed.**

Stiles had to smile. **Aw, you totally mom'd me.**

**I guess I did.**

Snickering, Stiles finished off his fries.

* * *

Peter looked freshly showered when he opened the door to his apartment, and Stiles could smell his subtle body wash. "Hey," Stiles said as he walked in.

Peter closed the door before catching Stiles's cheek with his good hand and pulling him into a kiss. It wasn't a casual kiss. There was heat and intent in it, and Stiles moaned softly. He'd missed this. It hadn't been long, but he missed it. He missed the kissing, the touching and the fucking. He'd missed the way that he could feel cared for bone deep, like nothing was important but this.

When Peter drew back, it was with a lingering kiss, and Stiles’s eyes fluttered open to look at him. "Hey yourself," he said finally, voice pitched low like a growl. "I'm glad you're here."

“Me too,” Stiles replied with a swallow, then he bit his lip. He ran a hand over Peter’s front, before he caught the hem of his henley and held it. 

Peter gave him a heated look, smiling slightly like he was having ideations of them two of them naked and significantly more sweaty. He grabbed onto Stiles’s hand, pulling it away from his shirt and leading him through the apartment. Lady Godiva mewed at them as they passed her. When they hit the bedroom, Peter closed the door behind them and shoved Stiles up against it to take control of his mouth again.

This always had Stiles moaning like he was auditioning for porn. Peter managed to engulf him in his presence even eight months into their relationship. He had yet and probably would never get used to it. He surged up into the kiss, sinking his hands into Peter’s hair. But then he cried out as his wrists were grabbed and pinned above his head. 

Peter broke the kiss then, and Stiles’s eyes fluttered open to look at him. “I’m going to fuck you hard,” he promised him, taking his wrists and pulling him toward the bed. 

“I look forward to it,” Stiles couldn’t help but say, giddy and grinning. Then he was practically tossed onto the bed. He landed with a bounce and a giggle, before he shrugged off his shirt as Peter worked on his belt. Soon he was naked, and he was already chubbing up just from being here.

Peter looked over his body the way like he wanted to consume him. Stiles bit his lip and just spread his legs, which caused Peter to smile. He climbed up onto the bed between Stiles’s legs, leaning on his good hand to reach the nightstand where the lube was. He winced mid-stretch and curled in on himself, letting out a groan as he grabbed his side. He shifted and rolled onto his back next to Stiles, holding his injured side and grimacing. 

Stiles sat up, feeling his hard on start to flag at seeing Peter in pain. He gently set his hand on Peter’s shoulder, leaning over him a little. “You okay?” he asked, and Peter shook his head. “Can I get you anything?” 

“I can’t,” Peter said through gritted teeth. “My ribs hurt too much.”

“It’s okay,” Stiles told him, rubbing at his shoulder gently. “It doesn’t matter.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to his hair, just above his ear. 

“It’s not okay, and it does matter,” Peter bit out promptly, before he pushed himself up. “I hate being an invalid, so fucking worthless like this.” He scooted so his legs were hanging off the bed.

“Peter, you’re anything but worthless,” Stiles tried to tell him, but Peter just grunted like he wouldn’t hear it. Stiles sighed and got up, grabbing his undies off the ground. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think you should take your vicodin.”

“Don’t start,” Peter said in a near snarl. “It’s not going to happen, Stiles.” 

Stiles sighed as he pulled up his undies. He picked up his pants and shook them out. “It’s not a bad thing to need some help. It doesn’t make you weak.” He stepped into his pants and pulled them up. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter grumbled.

“Are you kidding?” Stiles asked, nearly yelling. “I know what it’s like to have a debilitating condition. I have ADHD. I’ve grown out of it some since high school. It used to be so much worse. My head used to run in circles, and I would be stuck between wanting to get everything done and being unable to, my mind running in seventy different directions at top speed. I couldn’t have _survived_ without Adderall.”

Peter just frowned at him. “This is different.”

“How?!” Stiles demanded to know, and Peter only glared at him. “You’re in pain. It’s not a bad thing to not want to be.”

“That’s not what this is about, and you know it,” Peter said, and Stiles blinked at him. “You want me impaired so that you can take care of me. I don’t need your pity, Stiles.”

Stiles couldn’t help the loud volume of his voice when he spouted, “I don’t pity you, fucking dick! I care about you!” God, he was close to crying very suddenly. He didn’t like arguing with Peter, but Peter was such a fucking brat about this that it couldn’t be helped.

Peter gave him a long look, his expression slowly softening into some vulnerable. “...You…?”

Stiles swallowed, picking up his shirt and wringing it with his hands. “I might even love you, y’know?” He sniffed and gave his best glare. “But right now I want to punch your stupid face. Just stay fucking there and let me handle things for a while.”

Peter looked down, his hand going to his side. “Okay,” he finally said after a heavy moment of nothing.

“Okay?” Stiles asked, stepping closer.

“Yeah.” Peter heaved a sigh then winced. “I’ll take the medication. I’m getting pretty tired of being in pain anyway.” 

“Let me get it for you,” Stiles said, practically racing out of the room. He couldn’t run with a glass of water, but he could powerwalk. He handed Peter the two pills then the glass of water after he’d knocked them back. 

Peter drank the whole glass of water before he handed it back. Then he turned and laid down, sighing heavily. 

Stiles set the glass on the nightstand then climbed up onto the bed too. He moved up against Peter’s good side, finding his hand and curling their fingers together. This was nice, he thought as he snuggled his face into Peter’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Anything to help with Peter’s pain.

They stayed like that for however long, Stiles wasn’t sure. It was long enough for him to close his eyes and being comfortable enough to float on the edge of sleep, dozing here and there as he listened to Peter’s even breathing.

“It was eleven years ago,” came Peter soft voice, and Stiles opened his eyes to look at his face. Peter’s eyes slid toward him, before he turned his head. “The fire.”

Stiles’s eyes widened a bit. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I do,” Peter said, moving his hand to take Stiles’s, laying it over his chest then covering it up with his own. “There was some shoddy wiring in the basement, which was unfortunately where we held all our get togethers. There was an exposed wire or something. All of the sudden the walls just went up in flames, then the ceiling. It happened in seconds. My sister died.” 

“Shit,” Stiles said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Everyone else got out, but I got trapped under a fallen beam. It took a whole agonizing minute for firefighters to free me, and by that time my side and arm were burned black. The doctors told me that there was little chance that I would ever have control over my right arm again.”

Peter laced their fingers. “My lungs were full of smoke, burned from the inside out. I couldn’t go five minutes without an oxygen mask, and I couldn’t leave the hospital while my burns were raw. I stayed in bed for weeks, until they said I could go into rehab for my arm."

There was nothing Stiles could say. So he just listened.

“I felt so helpless through the exercises they had me do. I couldn’t pick up a paperclip or hold a ball. It hurt so much to focus my muscles, and my hand would just shake uncontrollably. It took months before I could even close my hand. I’d like to say I became ambidextrous in the process, but using my left hand was only just barely better than my right. I couldn’t write or go anywhere. I had to rely on a paid nurse to help me with everything, just like an invalid.”

Now Stiles understood.

“The first place I went when I could go anywhere on my own was my sister’s grave. I hadn’t been able to go to her funeral, to lay a rose on her coffin. I don’t know how long I stood there, telling her that I was sorry, that I missed her, that I wished it was me instead.” 

Stiles couldn’t help but tighten his grip on Peter, wishing he could just will away all those thoughts.

Peter fell silent, and they just laid there for long moments, listening to each other breathe. Then Peter sniffed, and Stiles lifted his head to find Peter’s face wet with tear tracks, his lips pressed together in a line as his chin wibbled. 

Stiles lifted up on his elbow and leaned over to kiss the wet tracks on Peter’s face. “I’m here,” he told him softly, feeling his damp eyelashes beneath his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter’s grip on Stiles’s hand tightened, fingers lacing together as he reached up with his other hand, rubbing at his eyes the best he could with a cast. Stiles didn’t stop kissing at his face, murmuring to him that everything was okay.

“I miss her,” Peter whispered with a trembling voice. “Everyday.” 

“I know, I get it,” Stiles said, and Peter finally looked at him. “My mom died when I was eight. Frontotemporal dementia. Everything she was just… faded away. Then she died in the hospital, attached to all these machines. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I see her there.” He sniffed, wanting to wipe at his nose, as he got more emotional, but he wasn’t going to take his hand away from Peter. “So, I get it. I understand and I’m here for you.”

Peter swallowed, gazing at him. “I’m here for you too,” he told him. “If you ever want to talk about your mother, I’ll listen.”

Stiles laid his head on Peter’s pillow and gave him a watery smile. “Thanks.”

Peter smiled back. Finally. “No, thank you.”

Stiles let out a gross, snorting laugh. “You just had to say that, didn’t you?”

Laughing, Peter nodded. “Yes, but it doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Dork,” Stiles said, making it sound like a deep endearment.

“Takes one to know one,” Peter said, actually sticking out his tongue.

“Oh my God, stop!” Stiles cried, laughing until his bones hurt.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Stiles had just celebrated his 22nd birthday, and it had been a great one. Everyone had gone bar hopping. Laura had sent cupcakes. Malia had sent a gift card to ThinkGeek. All of his other presents were awesome, but there was one that Peter could only give him in private. It was silk rope, soft to the touch and meant for extended use.

That was what Stiles was wearing under his clothes as he and Peter stepped into Teeth. With every movement, he could feel the rope shifting on his skin, from the diamonds on his chest to the ropes looping under his pelvis and through his asscrack. It kept him at a low level arousal as they sat down and watched Scott flog Isaac, the first demonstration they’d ever done.

He continued being aroused a couple hours later as Peter took his hand and led him to the back rooms. He requested the White Room this time, and Stiles thought nothing of it until the door opened and he noticed that largest piece of chocolate cake ever on the coffee table. Two forks.

“What’s this?” Stiles asked, and Peter smiled at him, leading him over to the couch.

“This,” Peter said, sitting down and picking up the forks. “Is an anniversary cake. It has been one year since you first came to the club.” He held out one of the forks for Stiles. “Since the night we first met.”

Stiles took the fork, smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt. He sat down next to Peter. “Sentimental,” he said like it was the best thing ever. “I’m getting so much cake lately, I like it.” He cut off a piece of the huge chocolate slice and put it in his mouth, moaning at the taste. “If you keep buying me sweets, I’m going to get _so fat_.” He couldn’t really complain though.

“I think I can live with that,” Peter said, taking his own bite.

When they started making it out, it was very chocolatey. Stiles felt warm and a little wired from the sugar, and he was in Peter’s lap, straddling his thighs, as he sucked on his tongue. Peter had his hands on Stiles’s thighs, squeezing and digging in his nails. It just made Stiles sink his hands into Peter’s hair and tug.

Peter laughed, before he grabbed Stiles’s ass and stood up, and Stiles let out a happy shriek, giggling as he wrapped himself around Peter as he was carried to the bed, not wanting to fall on his head. They dropped onto the bed together, all clutching hands and sliding tongues. Peter rolled them so he was on top, tugging at Stiles’s shirt until he had it off, before he shucked his own. 

"How do these feel?" Peter asked, settling between Stiles's legs and rolling the rope on his chest over his nipples over and over.

Stiles arched with a moan. "So good." His nipples were hard, sensitive and achy already.

Peter soothed them with his hot tongue, twirling it around the pebbled areolas and stiff nubs. It was all Stiles could do not to twist and moan, clutching at the covers and gripping at Peter's waist with his thighs. That lingering arousal that he'd had all night was blowing up into full force, and Stiles was beyond ready to get fucked.

Peter sat up again and started working at the front of Stiles’s pants, getting them undone and shifting out of the way so he could pull them off. Stiles wasn't wearing any underwear, so his dick sprang out like a jack in the box, eager for attention. Peter pushed down his own pants and underwear, before he climbed back between Stiles’s spread legs. Peter took Stiles’s dick in hand, giving it a few firm strokes.

Stiles mewled like a kitten, completely at Peter’s mercy. It was all he could do to rock his hips up to meet his hand. Peter was giving him the hungry look that always made him feel bare, right down to the bone, like Peter had pulled him open, separating skin and muscle from his ribs and taking hold of his heart. Even after a year.

"How's this?" Peter asked, slipping his hand under his ass to press at the ropes against his hole. Stiles squirmed and whined, and Peter just smirked down at him, proud of himself and not afraid to show it. 

Peter untied the knots that kept the ropes wrapped under his pelvis, pulling them free and exposing Stiles’s hole. He scooped his hands under Stiles’s ass and lifted him up, making him scramble a second as all of his weight went on his shoulders. He hooked his ankles around the back of Peter’s neck as his cheeks were pushed apart and Peter’ tongue ran flat against his hole. 

“Ah, fuck,” Stiles whimpered, before he got louder. He moaned and pawed around with his hands, eventually ending up with a bit of pillow in his fists. “Peter!” 

Peter was getting him sloppy with spit, alternated between licking the rim in circles and stabbing his tongue inside. He shifted his hand so he could catch the edge of his hole with his thumb and pull it open so he could get his tongue farther inside. It should have been gross, especially with the loud slurping noises Peter was making, but it was so hot, and Stiles was going to die soon if he didn’t have Peter inside him. 

Peter seemed to sense his urgency, before he lowered him back to the bed and leaned over to the nightstand to pick up the lube and a condom out of the complimentary bowl of them. He slicked up his fingers, and soon they replaced his tongue in Stiles, stretching with one, two, three of them until Stiles was writhing again, desperate for more. Only then was he rolling the condom onto himself and getting into position. 

Laying himself over Stiles’s body, Peter pressed their lips together in a kiss as he slid inside him, going slow despite Stiles’s urgency. He started moving, rolling his hips as Stiles wrapped around him and and held tight, making tiny noises into Peter’s mouth. Peter was content to go at a steady, strong pace, and Stiles let himself be grounded. 

The pleasure started to take him slowly, filling him up from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair. He didn’t have to be loud, not with Peter taking over his mouth, his tongue plundering it like he was looking for treasure. The bliss curled in low parts of him, simmering and building, until it crested, and Stiles groaned low with a shiver that shook his core. Peter stilled above him, shuddering and let out a soft noise, his grip on Stiles’s hip tightening. 

Then they just laid there, breathing against each other’s shoulders. Stiles was in no hurry to move, and he could tell Peter wasn’t either, so he just ran his hand up and down Peter’s back, letting himself fall into a bit of a doze. When he opened his eyes again, Peter was moving off of him, pulling off the condom and disposing of it. 

Stiles stretched, feeling blissfully fucked out. He sagged, watching Peter start to remove the rope that was wrapped around him. He just smiled, watching Peter’s calm face, smiling to himself. 

Eventually Peter got him loose and looked at him, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “What’s that look for?” he asked, lying back down and gathering Stiles in his arms. 

“Nothing, I just like looking,” Stiles said, cuddling into the crook of Peter’s neck and sighing contently.

“I have a question for you,” Peter said after a moment of quiet.

“I probably have an answer.” Mm, Peter smelled good.

“Well, it’s more of a proposition,” Peter amended, and Stiles shifted to look at him, curious. Peter waited a bit, before he opened his mouth again. “Would you like to move in with me?”

Stiles stared, eyes wide, before a smile split his face wide enough to drive a truck through. “Really?” he asked, a little squeaky. 

“Really,” Peter replied, smiling hugely too now.

“Yes!” Stiles cried, flinging his arms around Peter’s neck and holding him tight enough to suffocate. 

Peter only gagged a little and eventually came up for air, still smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me,” Stiles accused brightly. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. It was too perfect.

Peter brushed their noses together and gave him a little kiss. “I do.”

It was only going to get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End *happy dance*
> 
> Thank you to [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale) for the read. And the cheerleading and the awesomeness.
> 
> And thank you to everyone for reading. I have a lot of fun writing this one. It was definitely an exercise in deadlines. I'm proud of myself for (mostly) sticking to it. But I couldn't have done it without you guys and your lovely messages. ♥


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